


The Demon, The Witch and The Warlock

by AlloSpoike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Dark Magic, F/M, Fights, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Resurrection, Rewrite, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Season/Series 06, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 55,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlloSpoike/pseuds/AlloSpoike
Summary: The Scoobies bring a not-too-chipper Buffy back to life, hoping it'll be just like old times, but magic always has consequences.  As Buffy finds herself strangely drawn to Spike, the gang races to get to the bottom of the side effects of Will's biggest spell yet, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.Season 6 rewrite starting from episode 3.The story has 24 chapters in total.Some lines from canon in chapter 1, and two more in chapter 2 but then totally off-canon.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	1. A Bloody Breath-taking Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> Season 6 rewrite starting from episode 3.  
> The story has 24 chapters in total.  
> Some lines from canon in chapter 1, and two more in chapter 2 but then totally off-canon.
> 
> Thanks to the following for offering feedback and suggestions on my first 7 chapters:  
> SoddThis, KittyFajitas, Maryams, 
> 
> Huge thank yous to my IRL buddies P, T and G for reading it all before I posted.

“Thank God. You scared me half to death – well, more to death,” Spike stood in the hallway, berating a sheepish Dawn, who was descending the stairs at 1630 Revello. “You – I could kill you.”

“Spike,” Dawn said softly. She was dreading Spike’s reaction. God, she was half-dreading her _own_ reaction, if she ever got her head around her sister’s sudden reappearance. 

“I mean it. I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brain stem,” he continued, thrusting a hand into the air in demonstration. There was no real anger behind his words. It was good to see the Niblet in one piece. His promise to Buffy, to keep her safe. He’d be damned if he was going to fail another Summers woman.

“Look,” came Dawn’s soft reply, gesturing to the feet stepping down from the landing.

“Yeah? Seen the bloody bot before. I didn’t think she’d patch up s-”

Fuck. It took a fraction of a second for him to realise it wasn’t that bleeding cursed robot but actually the real deal. The ground beneath him threatened to give way. There she stood, a bloody breath-taking mirage. The girl he loved enough to almost-stake Drusilla. Buffy, with whom he’d been so deeply obsessed he’d had a sodding bimbo sex robot made in her image. The silence stretched out and hung thick in the air. Buffy looked tentatively in his direction, their eyes meeting. There was a softness he had never seen from her and a directness lacking the usual “I’m-gonna-dust-you” undertones. It unnerved him.

“She’s kind of – um – she’s been through a lot,” came Dawn’s feeble summary, “with the … death.” “ _No shit,_ ” he would’ve said to anyone else. “But I think she’s OK.” _“OK my bleeding arse,”_ his unspoken reply.

Buffy looked down and frowned intently at her button, re-fastening it with freshly bloody fingers. The white shirt alone screamed that something was wrong. Since when did the slayer dress so formally? She looked ready for a funeral. It was lucky that Dawn was the go-between for this particular encounter because Spike had the sudden urge to crack some skulls, chip be damned.

“Spike … are _you_ OK?” If his heart hadn’t fallen out through his shoes by that point, he might have laughed at the gargantuan bloody understatement. Was he _OK_? The woman he loved and failed and lost, who had left her to pal around with her stupid sodding useless white hat mates so he could keep an eye on her tragic little sister was buttoning up her Sunday best not two feet from him. 

“I … what did you do?” he asked Dawn. His eyes were glued to Buffy; he didn’t want to miss her.

“Me?” Dawn’s eyes widened in surprise. “Nothing.”

Buffy raised her eyes to meet his. “Her hands.” She slid them behind her back like a child caught dipping into the Pick n Mix. God, it would really be helpful if he had a neck or two to snap right now.

“Um – I don't know how they got like that.”

“I do. Clawed her way out of her coffin, that’s how.” He searched her face. Looking for what, he was unsure. He spoke to her directly for the first time, “Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah. That’s … what I had to do.”

“I’ve done it myself.” He sent Dawn to get bandages. They were alone now and it was almost unbearable. She followed him through to the living room and sat on the couch, him perching opposite on the low coffee table. He scooped her hands up gently in his, thanking a god in whom he didn’t believe. Their eyes met again. He was having an out of body experience, half observing and half living. 

***

Dawn tried to keep her cool as she left the room to fetch the first aid kit for Spike. He was being pretty helpful for someone so shellshocked. She made a stop first, picking up the phone to call Willow. Instead, she found a garbled message from the witch on the answer machine, “Hey Dawnie, great news! Buffy’s back. It went great, except she kinda went missing. I’ll explain everything later –”

Xander’s voice cut in at this point, “It was gross Dawnie, Willow puked out a hell cobra.”

Willow’s voice continued, “Anyway, we really hope you’re OK too and if you get this and you’ve got Buffy – well, I guess you can’t let us know but we’re on our way over! OK, bye!”

Being back at Revello with Buffy was a hundred desperate wishes come true and a thousand new-found worries sprung to life. Of course, she’d had dreams about her sister’s return but more often they were nightmares. Flashes of the portal thundering shut behind her, or of some Buffy-shaped creature of the night turning up to haunt them, the way Angelus had once done. It had never crossed her mind that they might actually bring her back. After all, it had been Willow and Tara that had told her in no uncertain terms that matters of life and death were Not To Be Messed With.

When she had tried to resurrect Joyce not one year ago, she had seen sense before the crunch came, heeded the demon’s warning that whatever came back would not be her mother, not really. Seeing Buffy up on that tower, Dawn knew something was majorly wrong. What had possessed her to go back to the place where the portal had been?

So, Buffy was back in the flesh and Willow was fooling nobody with her chirpy reassurances that everything had gone swimmingly. How the fuck was a plan that began with Willow vomiting a live snake and ended with Buffy acting like a jumpy woodland critter “swimmingly?” There was no swimming. Not one of them thought this was swimming. 

Dawn hadn’t been trusted with the plan. She was hurt but she didn’t blame them. They were desperate. “ _Been there, done that_ ,” she thought, recalling the night she had torn through the enchanted photo and her last hope of seeing her mother alive. No, she certainly didn’t blame them but somehow, she wasn’t too sure Spike would share the sentiment.

***

Buffy had been unbalanced by her relief at seeing Spike. An old soul to match her now-old soul. Of course, Dawn was an old soul too, really. Mystical key, blah blah, ancient energy, blah blah, floating through the millennia. But none of that was with her now. The monks had fixed that. She might have been through more than any 15-year-old girl on the planet but her ancient spirit was a distant not-even-memory.

From his seat on the table, Spike was gazing at her like some unholy alien apparition. She noticed he felt strangely more akin to an old friend than a hated rival. What the fuck was going on? She had the majorly disturbing sensation that she was finally home.

“How long was I gone?” she asked.

“147 days yesterday, 148 today. Except today doesn’t count, does it?” He looked down then, composing himself. “How long was it for you, where you were?” She was so thankful for the wording, “ _where you were_.” He hadn’t assumed she was in hell but nor had he asked. Didn’t require her explanation. His eyes were wracked with worry. She needed to let him know that it was OK. That _they_ were OK. Woah. Where the fuck had that come from? This was not the Buffy they’d buried.

***

Spike left in disgust at the first whiff of the Scoobies, taking himself out front to chain smoke. She wished she could follow. Instead, there she was reassuring them that she was all right while they speculated about what was best for her. She felt impatient.

The Scoobies had been expecting a cheerier reaction from Buffy. “ _Gee guys, being rescued from the depths of unspeakable hell is a real load off my mind_ ,” that kind of thing.

Buffy excused herself to bed, but not before Willow could put the cherry on the top. “Buffy, be happy. We got you out. We really did it.” She was beaming now, so pleased with herself, and the sudden urge to claw the self-congratulatory grin from her face rose in Buffy like lava. Her lips stretched over her teeth in a forced smile as she retreated hurriedly up the stairs. She could feel them watching as she escaped to the quiet of her old bedroom but didn’t catch the contents of the intense tête-à-tête that broke out the moment she was upstairs.

***

Her venom in the living room had alarmed her. She’d had to push it down, sit on it like a Fyarl demon trapped in a trunk. Willow had annoyed her before now, pissed her off even but Buffy didn’t think she had ever wanted to harm anybody. Anybody who wasn’t an imminent danger… or Spike. 

She knew she’d have to figure this out but now was not the time to go all introspective. She felt like a girl who’d just fought her way out of a solid oak coffin and six feet of earth and she’d be damned if she was going to waste a moment more tonight feeling... anything. Sleep came mercifully quickly.

***

Leaning against the tree in the front yard, dragging fervently on his fourth cigarette in as many minutes, Spike was irked to hear Anya and Xander making their way towards him.

“Spike? What are you doing here? I hope you're not gonna start your little obsession now that she’s around again.” Xander sounded smug and patronising, forgetting that he himself had been just as obsessed with the Slayer once-upon-a-time-not-too-sodding-long-ago. In reality, he had always been a bit jealous that, cringeworthy as he was, Spike had at least been able to tell Buffy in brutal, painful detail how he felt about her. Something Xander had never quite managed.

Spike grabbed him by the lapels of his ill-fitting black denim jacket and got him up against the tree. “Hey,” protested Anya weakly, more out of habit than anything. She knew Spike wasn’t trying to hurt him; his chip hadn’t fired. 

“You didn’t tell me. You brought her back and you didn’t tell me.”

“Well, now you know.”

“I worked beside you all summer.”

“We didn’t tell you.” Xander blinked, startled to find that he was feeling a little guilty, “It was just … we didn’t, OK?”

Spike smiled sarcastically. “Listen. I’ve figured it out. Maybe you haven’t but I have. Willow knew there was a chance that she’d come back _wrong_. So wrong that you’d have … that she would have to get rid of what came back and I wouldn’t let her. Any part of that was Buffy, I wouldn’t let her. That’s why she shut me out.”

“What’re you talking about? Willow wouldn’t do that.” He wasn’t even convincing himself. Spike was many, many infuriating things, but stupid was not one of them.

“Oh, is that right?” he sneered.

“Look, you're just covering. Don’t tell me you're not happy.” Spike averted his glare. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that wasn’t the happiest moment of your entire existence.”

He turned and swept from the drive, not deigning to turn around as he warned, “That’s the thing about magic. There’s always consequences. Always.”

***


	2. Chapter 2 Sod Your Sodding Fingers

The next day at the Magic Box, the gang were finding their groove. They had been quick to shrug off the finer details of last night’s comeback. Buffy seemed a little more reserved than usual, sure, but otherwise pretty much fine. They were so relieved to have their hero returned to the fold, none of them cared to delve into the alternatives.

Buffy had had enough of them staring questioningly at her all morning. She decided to tell them what she knew they wanted to hear, hoping for some peace. She addressed them as a group, explaining that she didn’t have the energy to describe where she had been and ending with, “You guys gave me the world. I can’t tell you what it means to me and I should have said it before.”

She dug her fingernails into her palms as she lied to them. They didn’t deserve to have their egos soothed but this was the path of least resistance. They lapped it up, showering her with hugs. She felt nothing, perhaps a tinge of impatience. She slipped out of the store’s back entrance not long after. She was so not in the mood. In fact, the only person she was in the mood to see right now was –

“Spike?”

“Buffy.” 

It always jarred to hear him use her real name, but today it was not unwelcome. He was lounging easily under the lean-to, resting a hand on a stack of empty crates that had once housed salamander brains or eye of kestrel or whatever else Anya and Giles were peddling to Sunnydale’s thriving underworld clientele these days. She knew he was fine standing in the shade and yet there was something uneasy about seeing a vamp in daylight. Most didn’t bother to come out before dark, it was harder to move about and almost impossible to hunt. 

He jerked his head towards the back door. “I was gonna go inside but I heard you and the super-friends exchanging a special moment and I came over a bit queasy.”

Buffy laughed then, a wry “ha!” which caught Spike completely off guard. “That would make two of us,” she admitted. He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I just wanted them off my back.”

“So, you told them exactly what they wanted to hear. That you are forever indebted to them for bringing you back to glorious Sunnydale.”

“Bingo.” She drew an absent-minded arc on the ground with her foot, first in front of her left leg and then behind, scuffing the bottom of her flats on the tarmac. Her awkward shuffling was out of step with her face though, she was looking him dead in the eye. There was that directness again. 

“And now Red and the rest of the bloody Scooby gang think they’re due a shiny gold medal for heroic services to Buffy?” Another laugh. God, he wished she wouldn’t do that without warning, it knocked the wind out of him. “Double bingo,” she agreed. “Spike do you mind if – can we get out of here?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Buffy?” he demanded. He was half-teasing, but it did make him wonder. First, she hadn’t objected to him slagging off her groupies, had joined in, even, and now she wanted to go off on a jolly with him? Bloody topsy-turvy world. Magic always had consequences; he had believed what he’d said. These weren’t quite the consequences he had foreseen but then, he wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity.

“You know what? I’m not too sure who I am, actually. Trying to figure that one out. I’m guessing you’ll lead the way?” She gestured a hand towards the sunlight and he nodded, leading her over to a half-uncovered manhole and shifting it the rest of the way open with his leather-booted foot. She’d been in the sewers before with Angel, but hadn’t expected to feel quite so at ease being down there with Spike. The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease as they climbed down the ladder into the cool dark tunnel and away from the Magic Box, the clanking of their hands and feet on the flimsy metal ladder echoing dully around them. 

The passages were lit by dim service lights, which were easy enough to see by once her eyes adjusted. Once upon a time, those lights had been for emergency use only but one too many city council workers had met a demonic fate down there and now the lighting was a permanent feature. Of course, they never directly credited the demons for that. “Workplace hazards,” they were called in the official literature, in true Sunnydale fashion.

He skipped the last three rungs, landing easily with a small splash in a shallow puddle of what she really hoped was rainwater, and offering an arm out for her to lean on. To his surprise, she took it with an easy “thanks” and a grin, hopping down to meet him. She let go once her feet were on the ground, turning to survey their dank surroundings. There she went again with that smile. Spike wondered if he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be his first acid flashback but certainly so far it was shaping up to be the most pleasant.

“You planning on catching flies all day Spike or can we get going?” He realised his jaw had fallen open slightly and closed it with a scowl. “Very funny, Slayer. Was waiting for you to tell me where the bloody hell we’re going, actually.”

“Oh. Good point. I hadn’t really thought that far. Mind if we hang out at your place?”

He raised an eyebrow with a smirk, “Now you’re talking.”

“Ugh! Gross Spike, you wish!” She crinkled her nose in disgust. “I feel like going somewhere with no people, that’s all.”

“As the lady wishes,” he acquiesced, tipping his head forward in a sarcastic bow which earned him a punch to the back of the shoulder. “ _That’s my girl,”_ he thought fondly, leading the way through tunnels he knew like the back of his hand.

***

The walk to his crypt had been strangely un-awkward. Like, eerily so. Spike had filled her in on the goings-on since her untimely departure, careful to keep it heavy on the demon violence and light on the Scooby details. She was grateful for his cocky, swaggering demeanour. After treating her like a fragile bird for all of 10 minutes at Revello last night, he was now back in full swing, mocking her mercilessly, swearing, describing his big bad brawls with Sunny D’s demons. It felt reassuring to be treated like a normal person, even if she didn’t feel quite like one.

They reached the crypt, sparsely decorated but homely enough. Buffy was relieved he’d taken her invitation to hang out so nonchalantly. If he was wigged, he hadn’t let it show. Spurred on by his airy disposition, she settled in, grabbing a couple of beers out of the fridge and knocking the caps off on the edge of the stone counter top, offering him one as she sat on the couch. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” he smirked, lighting a cigarette that was hanging out of the corner of his smug mouth and sitting on the armchair closest to her. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” she retorted. His eyes twinkled in amusement, enjoying the easy banter, “Can’t believe I’m getting an etiquette lesson from The Butcher of the English Language herself.” She held up a middle finger, a very Spike-like gesture which took them both by surprise.

“Hey, get your own moves!” He protested. 

“Free country,” she defied, setting her bottle down and raising the other finger to match.

“Cheeky bint.” He swiped playfully at her hands, remembering too late about the healing wounds on her knuckles. “Shit, sorry pet.”

“Spike, since when do you say sorry for causing me pain?”

“Right you are. Sod your sodding fingers. Better?” 

“Much.” 

They spent the next hour or so in the same manner, Spike drinking twice as many beers as Buffy and seeming only half as tipsy, vampire metabolism and all that. She hadn’t even objected when he’d sat next to her on the couch after grabbing his sixth beer (her third). Now that they had most thoroughly taken the edge off, he thought it might be safe to pry a little more.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Are you gonna tell me what happened in hell?” And then, when she stiffened, “Or not. _The Creek_ ’s coming on in a minute, we could watch.”

“And listen to you ramble on about Pacey and Joey’s love life. Oh boy, what a tempting prospect. I’ll pass thanks… but if I answer your questions, you have to answer one of mine.”

He responded in mock surprise, “Why, Slayer, I would have thought you too much of a goody-goody for truth or dare.” HHe winked. She rolled her eyes. He stuck his tongue out at her between pearly teeth.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“Where did the portal take you?”

She paused, thinking. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I think maybe I was in some kind of holding zone; there wasn’t much of anything. I don’t think I even had a body. It felt kind of like being half-asleep in a big floaty-cocoon-thing or a kind-of limbo. I had sort of vision things in there, dreamy stuff, you know? I can’t remember them. I felt so much time passing in there. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was there for a century.” It was true that where she had once perceived Spike as far beyond her years, he now felt more like a peer than any of the Scoobies. It was one of the reasons she was finding it so unsettling to be around them. “And now I’m back and I feel … different.”

“Different how?” He asked, thinking, _“I told that daft git she’d come back wrong.”_

“Nuh-uh, it’s my turn now,” she wagged a finger at him and he had the sudden urge to bend her over the sofa. He reined it in.

“Right you are,” He conceded, surprised there was anything she really wanted to know about him.

“Did you cry … when I died?” she looked a little sheepish. 

_“He was missing for weeks.”_ Anya had told her at the Magic Box that morning _, “We thought he’d left town for good. Eventually we realised he was keeping an eye on Dawn, you know, being all Mr Lurky, and she went out and gave him a talking to. After that he just started showing up, helping out, you know? Xander wasn’t too happy about it.”_

“Oh, bloody hell Slayer.” It was Spike’s turn to roll his eyes. Of all the things she could have asked, she had to choose this moment to become totally uninhibited. He supposed the booze was helping on that front.

“Well?”

He looked her in the eye and shrugged, “Might’ve shed a tear or two.” Her expression softened, satisfied with his response. Jesus Christ, the world really had gone mad. He returned to his own line of questioning, “ _Different how_?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. Just not quite myself. I feel a bit distant from everyone, guess an extended inter-dimensional quarantine can do that to a slayer.” She shrugged and added, “It’s even worse with Will, I don’t know if it’s because it was her that brought me back but I got the strangest feeling the other day. She was acting so pleased with herself and I kind of wanted to hit her.” 

Spike chuckled, tickled by the image of Buffy in a claws-out cat fight. He borrowed her earlier Buffy-ism with a wry grin, “That makes two of us, Luv.” The fury he had wanted to unleash on Willow for keeping him out of the loop, the bitch should count herself lucky that the US Army had a stake in the prime real estate that was his brain.

“What do you think it means?” She twirled her beer bottle round in her hands, watching the bubbles slosh about.

“That you’ve finally come to your bleeding senses?” he offered, grinning mischievously.

“I don’t mean _that_. I mean, I’ve never felt that sort of violent impulse before.”

“Bullshit!” He protested. 

“I _mean_ towards a human,” she elaborated. It was true that she’d never had any reluctance to dish it out where the supernatural were concerned.

“Oh.” He flashed her another smile, proud to be part of the evil elite that had received her special attentions and survived. She ignored him and pressed on.

“So, do you think I’m evil now?” she mused, clearly relieved to get it off her chest.

“So, _that’s_ what you’re getting at.” He looked her up and down, pondering before answering slowly, “I reckon it takes a lot more than the urge to slap your best bud to be able to count yourself in my leagues, pet. I mean, you didn’t even act on it. The demon community would be ashamed to have you.”

She couldn’t tell him the other part. The part where she felt oddly compelled towards _him_. She wasn’t sure she could handle finding out what _that_ meant. 

He could tell she wasn’t quite convinced and kindly added, “Look, people change. You bloody _died_. You’re bound to have had a bit of an overhaul in the old brain-department, Pet. Being pissed off at the Scoobies doesn’t make you evil, it just makes you pissed off at the Scoobies. Join the sodding club. Like you said, you’re not exactly sure how long you were out there. More likely you’ve just matured.” He waited a beat before adding, “If you don’t count the bit where you ran off down the sewers with Big Bad here to get pissed and play truth or dare.”

“Well, a reincarnated slayer has to find her fun where she can get it,” she quipped, dryly, feeling a little lighter.

“I’ll drink to that,” he smirked, clanking his bottle against hers and winking. He almost thought he saw her wink back.

***

Later that evening, he walked her home after they sobered up and realised that Buffy going AWOL all day might not have been the smartest impulse. As they walked along the lamplit sidewalk on Revello, Buffy stopped and turned to him, “Wanna do me a big favour?”

“Do I look like the sodding Easter bunny?” He folded his arms in mock impatience.

Buffy had always been mildly irritated by Spike’s good looks. She had a theory he wouldn’t be half as cocky or as dangerous if it weren’t for his chiselled cheekbones. She’d thought the same about Angel, too, though he was more the strong, silent, smouldering type and Spike was more up front about it, swaggering around in his leather duster with his peroxide blonde hair and perma-smirk.

“Forget it,” she sighed. She’d already shown him way too much Buffy-vulnerability for one day. She regretted giving him the satisfaction of having asked in the first place.

“I’m only teasing Slayer; can’t you take a joke? I’m all ears.” He cupped his hands comically behind both ears to prove it. 

“I was thinking maybe if you come inside with me, Xander and the others might be too distracted to give me a hard time,” she said.

“Too scandalised, you mean.”

“Well, maybe a little of that.” She smiled mischievously. Bloody disarming.

“Naughty Slayer!” he mocked, “messing with your poor Scoobies’ heads like that and them all worried about you, too!”

“What can I say? Guess I must’ve come back evil after all.” She strode up to the door, slid the key in the lock and in they went.

“Buffy, you’re here!” Willow’s smile faltered as she noticed the visitor standing behind her, “And you brought … Spike. Is everything OK?” 

“Of course she’s not OK, she disappeared and now she’s here with Spike.” said Xander, “Willow, we really need to work on your powers of deduction.”

Tara sat on the couch looking slightly amused but basically unbothered. _“I knew I liked her,”_ thought Buffy, smiling at their newest resident witch. Of course, Tara had a sense for these things, she didn’t need powers of deduction to tell that Spike and Buffy were casting a playful yellow aura. She hadn’t felt any energy this positive coming from the slayer since the resurrection and unlike Xander, she wasn’t perturbed by Spike’s presence. Any friend of Dawn’s was a friend of hers, and Dawn trusted Spike with her life, vampire or no. Remembering Dawn, she slipped from the room to let her know her sister was back in one piece.

***

Dawn wasn’t as worried about Buffy’s absence as the others were. Her big sister was her hero; she could do anything. After all, she’d beaten death twice now. No, her sister’s physical wellbeing wasn’t what was playing on her mind. She heard the words of the demon echoing, telling her that resurrected people didn’t really come back the same. 

In reality, Buffy had changed long before she’d died, becoming more withdrawn and independent. Finding out her sister was the Key had really done a number on her, talk about gaslighting. The monks had implanted a whole person into her life without her noticing. A person who she somehow still cared for so deeply that she hadn’t thought twice before throwing herself into the portal to save her.

After her death, Dawn had been surrounded by a volunteer family. Tara and Willow had stepped in as surrogate mothers, and Spike, well, he was more like a weird, good-looking vampire uncle. She knew how hard he’d tried to keep her safe, and how deep Spike’s feelings ran for Buffy. Having Spike chasing her around all summer, making sure she remained firmly in one piece, Dawn was sure that this time round he would be keeping an extra keen eye on Buffy. Woe betide anyone that tried to kill her a third time.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. Tara had come to give her the good news. Dawn was pleased, even more so when the witch came in and sat on the bed to hang out, pulling a battered tarot deck from a pocket of her slouchy swamp-green cardigan and offering to read her cards. 

***

Back in the living room, Spike was leaning against the doorframe, smiling in enjoyment of the trouble his presence had sparked like a cheeky little poltergeist. 

“Spike and I were hanging out,” Buffy had told a slack-jawed Xander.

“And when were you going to tell us about your head injury?” Xander asked, hurt that having spent all day reassuring the others, he was now being met with such an unfussed Buffy. “Spike Big Bad, Spike evil. Remember?”

Buffy was _so_ not in the mood to be patronised. Spike relished the fire in her eyes as she chose her next words, “Yeah and Buffy not big idiot, remember Xander? I needed somewhere quiet to go and Spike had a place. No big.”

Xander spluttered as he tried to find the words for all the “hell no” he was feeling but Willow lay a warning hand gently on his back. Now was not the time. He swallowed his retort, “Right then. No big. Right, yeah. I guess I’ll get going then, lots to do at the Magic Box. Ahn wants everything to be perfect in case Giles decides to pay a visit.” 

Willow had wanted to keep the news of Buffy’s revival from Giles for the time being but the others weren’t so sure. They had wanted to let him know straight away. Willow thought that the watcher could wait until the dust had settled, Xander secretly hoping that the settling dust would include a big old helping of staked Spike.

“Cheerio then!” Spike called out jovially, wiggling his fingers in an infuriating half-wave as Xander sidled past him. Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Willow, I’ll just be a minute,” said Buffy, “Spike, make yourself at home.”

She followed Xander out of the door, catching up with him and laying a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps she had been a bit too harsh. “I’m fine, Xander, really. I’m not trying to be all super-bitchy Buffy on purpose but everything’s just… a lot right now. I can’t explain it but I really don’t want to hurt you guys. Ever.” She emphasised the “ever” with what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder.

“Yeah well, just don’t forget that this is the same vampire who once chained you up in his creepy basement to prove how much he loved you,” he replied grumpily.

“And don’t you forget that I’m the same Buffy you’ve known since High School. I know how to handle myself. Even if I have … been away,” she finished lamely.

He nodded and smiled a tight but genuine smile then, raising a hand in farewell as he made off towards the Magic Box. He didn’t notice the cab rolling to a stop outside 1630.


	3. Arrogant Little Witch

Back in the living room, Willow shifted uncomfortably on the couch. She could feel Spike’s gaze boring into her skull and it was making her nervous. 

“So, Spike, what have you crazy kids been up to?” Willow asked, trying to sound breezy as she broke the silence, and coming across even dorkier than usual.

“Oh, you know, this and that.” He brushed her question off before asking one of his own in a far more accusing tone, “How about you Red, done any more meddling with the forces of dark magic lately?” He fixed her with a challenging glare and Willow averted her eyes.

“It wasn’t like that, she didn’t – _you know_ \- from natural causes. We rescued her from hell.”

“Ah and it was a completely selfless act on the part of you and your cronies, was it?” he added sarcastically. The muscles beneath his cheekbones were drawn sharply inwards as he clenched his jaw.

She bit her lip absent-mindedly. “Well, no. We wanted her back, of course we did but it’s not what you think,” the sentence tumbled out of her mouth as she hurried to explain away her actions. Spike thought it was a mad world indeed where a white hat was tripping over her words trying to explain her innocence to _him_.

Willow hadn’t noticed the front door click gently shut, or two sets of footsteps approaching. 

“Is that right?” Spike continued, ignoring the figures in the doorway and continuing, “Because what _I_ think is, you’re an arrogant little witch who messed with dark forces far beyond her understanding and avoided catastrophic results by sheer dumb luck.” Spike was seething, talking between gritted teeth in an effort to keep his voice low. He emphasised the “witch” in a way that made it sound more like “daft bloody cow”.

“Do you know,” came a man’s voice from the hallway. A tweed-clad figure stood almost territorially close behind Buffy, making her appear a foot smaller than usual. He continued coolly, “I’m loath to say it, but I quite agree with Spike.”

“Giles!” Willow’s eyes widened at the sight of their ex-teacher, her face falling as she registered what the watcher had just said, hazarding a glance in his direction to be met with a cold, disappointed and unwavering stare of disapproval. Big yikes.

“Right you are, Rupert.” Spike was amused at the look of annoyance this drew from his compatriot.

“Shut up, Spike,” Buffy and Giles snapped back in unison, although Spike noticed Buffy looked decidedly unconvincing when she said it. It was mostly habit. 

The drawn-out silence was broken by Spike fishing the silver Zippo from his breast pocket and lazily flicking it open and shut against his thigh with a satisfying click. It was an old habit he’d picked up God-knew-how-long-ago and the metal on the side where the lid opened was almost blindingly shiny from excessive polishing on the right trouser leg of his black jeans. He looked up to see Rupert and Buffy staring at him in in disbelief. He never was one for treating tense situations with the proper reverence.

“I think I’ll be on my way, I know when I’m not wanted,” he proclaimed theatrically, positively gleeful at the unfolding dramatics. He looked Rupert in the eye and snapped the lighter loudly shut for a final time between his thumb and forefinger before letting it drop into the satin-lined pocket of his duster. Rupert tutted dismissively, wondering how a vampire many decades his senior managed to come across so thoroughly immature.

“I’ll see you out,” said Buffy. She ushered Spike towards the back door, glancing back at Willow and noticing the rosiness had drained from her face as Rupert Giles regarded her icily. She flinched a little as he crossed the threshold of the living room and chose a seat opposite.

“Hello, Willow,” began the watcher, tersely, as the back door closed with a tinkle of wind chimes behind the vampire and the slayer.

***

“Bloody laugh riot in there,” Spike smirked, jerking a silver-ringed thumb towards the house.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad someone’s having fun. I think I’ll pay the price later for you being there when Giles came back.”

“Oh, come off it, Slayer, you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy the look on Daddy’s face when he saw what his innocent little girl had brought home?” He lifted a hand to covered his mouth which was opened in a theatrical gasp, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Ew gross!” She protested, swatting playfully at his shoulder. He grabbed her wrist with lightning reflexes and she froze momentarily, breath catching in her chest. Was it hot out here? 

“Now, now Slayer,” drawled Spike, eyes narrowing, “you really mustn’t bully the nice vampire. He can’t fight back.” He rolled his tongue across the back of his top row of teeth, daring her to try it again. 

She yanked her right arm out of his grasp, punching him in the shoulder with her left in the same moment with a devilish grin, “That’s right, you can’t fight back. Poor little Spikey.” He didn’t think she’d ever smiled at him before today, not really, and now she’d tried it on for size it seemed she couldn’t bloody get enough of it. He had half a mind to drain the stupid bint right there and then for the sheer cheek … or maybe he would kiss her instead, he couldn’t quite decide.

“You’d better get out of here before I change my mind and dust you,” she teased. He saluted her with two black varnished fingers and turned heel, making for the garden gate. “And Spike?” she called after him. He turned back to face her. “Thanks for today.” He shrugged and strode out of the garden, leaving the gate swinging on its hinges. What the bloody hell was he supposed to say to that?

***

 _“Thanks for today_ ”? Now she _knew_ she was in Bizarro World. She stood on the top step for a moment, absentmindedly wrapping her fingers round the wrist where Spike had grabbed her. Stupid vampire. Still, he’d definitely achieved the brief. The heat of her earlier disappearance was now well and truly cooled. Giles’ timely arrival had definitely helped as well.

She’d felt a swell of love for her watcher as he stepped stiffly from the cab, unfolding like a rusty umbrella and dusting the front of his jacket with an expression of utter distaste, as if the very notion of modern travel was obscene. The others seemed so entitled to her affections since her return but Giles and Dawn were different. They were family. She’d looped her arm through his easily, not bothering to warn him about his fellow countryman who was waiting with Will inside.

She had watched intently as Spike so casually decimated Willow with one sentence, wondering if he’d done it on her behalf. He seemed comfy in the midst of the chaotic energy flying round the room, leaning back against the bookshelf where Joyce had kept her tapes. “ _Why is he always leaning on stuff anyway?_ ” Xander had asked once. Whether it was a genuine habit or an affectation, it had the infuriating effect of making the vampire seem aloof and untouchable.

Shaking her head as if to rid herself of all Spike-related thoughts, Buffy made her way back inside to break up whatever trouble was brewing between Willow and Giles. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

“Hey Will, maybe it would be a good idea to go up to bed now, Giles and I need to talk.”

Willow cast a wary glance at Giles, as if to ask his permission before making her escape. “Yes, I expect that’s a sensible course of action,” came his distracted reply. He still couldn’t get his head around seeing Buffy, and would much rather spend some quality time with her than deal with the spectacular abuse of magic by the young witch. The reprimanding could wait another day. “Come to the Magic Box after lunch tomorrow and we’ll discuss things then.”

“O- OK, tomorrow then,” stammered Willow, looking relieved to put off The Talk. She mouthed a “thank you” to Buffy as she slipped out into the hallway. Giles clocked it with exasperated amusement. “Yes,” he added, “Thank you Buffy. I’m quite sure my temper got the better of me this evening. I expect it will be no bad thing for both of us to get our thoughts in order before we carry on with our discussion.”

“No problem. Tea?” Buffy offered. She had long since learned a cup of tea, or even the mention of tea, could take the sting out of even the grumpiest of watcher-grumps. He nodded weakly and she swept from the room. “On second thought,” he added, standing up and following her through to the kitchen, “why don’t you take a seat and I’ll make it.”

She smiled, “Haven’t forgotten the last one, huh? Give a slayer a break!”

“You poured the milk in before the water!” He replied in indignation.

“Have it your way,” she grinned, taking a seat at the kitchen island as he busied himself with the mugs, “get far with The Talk before I broke it up?”

“Actually, no. I’m afraid I got rather distracted by Willow explaining the appearance of a certain vampire.”

“Ah.”

“Ah, indeed. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what you were playing at today?”

“Correct.”

“Buffy,” he started, reproachfully.

“Look Giles, I didn’t ask to be brought back from the dead.” He winced. “But now I’m here, I don’t much feel like explaining where I go and who I go there with and why, you know? A year ago, I would have been right there with you, chairman of the We Hate Spike Fan Club but after everything he did for me and Dawn last year? It’s different; I’m different.”

“Well – while I won’t deny that some sort of unholy alliance was formed last year, as your watcher I feel compelled to remind you that –”

“Spike’s a big bad demon with a rap sheet longer than the line for Space Mountain? I’ve already been reminded once today. And anyway, I think we have bigger things to worry about than a neutered vampire and a slayer hanging out together?” Pointing a finger upwards in the general direction of Willow and Tara’s bedroom, she continued, “Like how Willow seems to have gone a little crazy with the whole harnessing-the-forces-of-life-and-death business?”

Giles took a deep breath. It wasn’t anything new for Buffy to be testing the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. Over the past few years, he’d learned it was rarely wise to push it when it came to matters relating to her personal life. There was also the nagging knowledge that Spike had helped them all out in some form or another since that blasted Initiative had chipped his head. Giles had always been distrustful when it came to computers, much preferring the predictable familiarity of a nice leather-bound book, but all the evidence did seem to point to the success of that particular technological experiment. Perhaps the feeling that Spike was a genuine threat was borne from habit more than logic. After all, even Giles had found himself sharing a settee with Spike and amicably watching Passions on more occasions than he cared to admit. He took a deep breath.

“Buffy, I trust that if you want to spend time with Spike, you are more than capable of taking care of yourself.”

“Thank you.” She replied, nodding as though it was the only reasonable response, but pleasantly surprised. _“Take that, Xander,”_ she thought, _“At least Giles trusts me.”_

“And whilst it’s true that I certainly feel more than a little concerned with Willow’s latest stunt,” he admitted, “I think that’s something best discussed between Willow and I in private.” He placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her and took the seat next to hers.

“And I trust that you are more than capable of taking care of it,” she cheekily repeated the watcher’s words back to him, “Welcome home, Giles.”

“Welcome home, Buffy.”

***

It was 3 in the morning by the time she waved a jet-lagged Giles off. He could have sworn that moving between time zones was getting more painful in his middle age and hoped the caffeine from that cup of tea wouldn’t make his trip to slumberland any more arduous.

They’d spent an age catching up in the sitting room and he’d limited himself to asking her nothing more taxing than, “Are you all right Buffy?” and a handful of variations of the same. He doubted she was in a fit state to be probed on the finer details, those could wait. Buffy had been right; Willow was his greater concern at the moment. The witch had developed a frankly frightening level of magic skill seemingly right under his nose. He blamed himself of course, had known she was a highly intelligent young woman who could easily achieve greatness. He was sure he should have offered her a greater level of mentorship. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late to put that right, starting tomorrow. 

Of course, once the Watchers Council had got wind of the latest hellmouth happenings, he’d been practically beating them off with a stick. For tonight though, that could wait. He was just glad to have his slayer back where she … well, he wasn’t quite sure _belonged_ was the correct term any more.

When his taxi arrived to take him home, he had taken her hands in his, “It really means a great deal to me to have you back Buffy. I don’t want you to think that my scolding Willow means anything to the contrary. If there’s anything you need at all, you know where to find me.”

She was taken aback by his earnestness and the intimacy of the hand-holding. She knew that Giles found physical contact icky at the best of times. She threw her arms around him, “I know where to find you.”

***

After the eventful evening, she had no idea why the day spent with Spike was so close to the forefront of her mind as she drifted off to sleep. She wondered what he was doing now.

***


	4. So, We're Screwed?

Buffy woke the next morning feeling brighter. She tried telling herself it was Giles’ return that had brought on all the cheeriness but an annoying little voice insisted it had more to do with her day of fun with the Big Bad Vampire. Oh brother. Uninvited images floated into her head: Spike with his hand around her wrist. Spike on the mausoleum couch, nudging her knee with his as he laughed at his own joke. Spike outside the back of the store, waiting to whisk her away down the tunnels. She shook her head in the mirror, screwing up her face. “Pull yourself together!”

She’d spent the morning with Dawn and the witches, watching cartoons and chatting. Buffy had called Xander earlier and invited him to meet them at the Magic Box later, knowing he would probably be there with Anya anyway but making an effort to involve him, “Maybe you can help me train while Willow and Giles do the Talky Thing. There’s a move I wanna try out.”

***

After lunch, Buffy and Willow left Tara looking after Dawn and headed for the Magic Box.

“So, did Giles give you any idea how much trouble I’m in after you got me off the hook last night? Thanks again, by the way. I was big time freaked, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh, I noticed.” Buffy replied, “I don’t think he wants to yell at you. He’s just concerned about the magic you’ve been using… to be honest, I am too.”

“Oh.” Willow’s shoulders fell slightly, making her seem even tinier than usual, “I guess I just thought everybody would be happy. It was _awful_ here without you.” Buffy really didn’t want to know. Surely the main perk of being dead was that you didn’t have to worry about how things were going for the living? “But Will, it’s not just this spell. You’ve been getting more powerful for a while now.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Willow snapped back, “Nobody was complaining when I helped with Glory.”

“And nobody is complaining now,” Buffy replied firmly, “I just think it’s best that you get a little guidance to make sure you’re – you know – going about it all the right way.” Buffy felt this might be a bit rich coming from her, the girl who had shirked the entire Watchers Council side of the slayer business, and Willow’s response wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear. “But that’s just it, Buffy, I’m not sure I need guidance. I brought you back in one piece, didn’t I? Sure, it was a bit freaky-deaky what with the snake and all but you came back.”

“Yeah, and clawed my way out of my grave,” added Buffy. She wasn’t going to let Will glaze over that part. Watching Spike give her an earful last night had been cathartic and she had decided not to pull any more punches. Maybe being straight with them was what she needed to work through her post-limbo angst.

“Yeah.” Willow stopped walking and turned to her friend. The irritation in her voice seemed to have vanished now, “We should have thought of that part, I’m so sorry about that part, Buffy. I guess we were all so caught up in trying to get the spell to work, we didn’t even think about where you would turn up if it did.”

“And once again with my point about the guidance,” Buffy said gently.

“Well, you’ve got me there.”

Buffy softened slightly, “Will, Giles loves you. We all do. It’s not exactly like he’s the Council’s number one fan. Do me a favour and just listen to what he has to say? I’ll promise not to bring up the crawling out of my grave thing for at least another week?” She had a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Deal.” Willow agreed with a resigned smile. 

“Deal.” repeated Buffy.

“And I guess it’s no bad thing to stay on Spike’s good side for a while.”

“Are you sure he has one?” Buffy teased.

“Well, now that you come to mention it…” she looked suddenly thoughtful.

“What is it, Will?”

“It’s just, sometimes I think you, _you know_ , dying, affected Spike worse than it affected any of us.”

A knot tightened in Buffy’s stomach. She tried to sound only mildly interested in this piece of information, “Huh, you don’t say.”

“I think if the Buffy Bot made one more pass at Spike, he would have ripped it in half. I don’t think he could bear to look at it.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Willow’s words ringing in Buffy’s ears.

***

“Good afternoon Buffy, Willow,” Giles greeted them warmly as the bell tinkled to announce their arrival. Buffy was pleased to see that Giles had cast off the armour of his tweed suit in favour of his more approachable weekend-watcher look, a mauve cashmere sweater with a crisp white shirt underneath and a pair of neatly pressed navy slacks. “ _You can take the watcher out of England…”_ thought Buffy _._ Still, it was definitely a positive choice of outfit. He was radiating fatherly energy and Willow seemed instantly relaxed.

Leaving Anya in her happy place behind the counter, counting money, Willow and Giles took a seat at the round table and Xander and Buffy went out back to the training room to practise, having left Anya with strict instructions to relay all the gossip to them later.

***

As late afternoon rolled round, Buffy and Xander were sat on the mat talking, all kickboxed out. Actually, Xander was kickboxed out and Buffy was pretending to be, so as not to bruise his currently extra-fragile ego. In reality she probably could have gone ten rounds with a Polgara demon. Xander seemed to be pretty over the whole Buffy-running-away-to-hang-out-with-Spike fiasco and Buffy was happy to leave the boat un-rocked for the time being. There was no use going over it again when she wasn’t even sure the hanging out with Spike _meant_ anything. 

Soon, Anya came to tell them that the coast was clear. “It was brutal,” she recounted gleefully, “he was so _gentle_ with her. He told her he was disappointed that she didn’t feel she could come to him for guidance.” The others winced. 

“Oh man, he played the disappointment card?” groaned Xander sympathetically, “Wouldn’t it be kinder to just call her an arrogant little witch like Spike did and leave it at that?” News of Spike’s takedown had reached the remaining Scoobies pretty quickly that morning and Xander had been outraged ( _“Who does he think he is? He’s not exactly Mr Big Morals!”)_

Tara hadn’t had much of a reaction when Willow had filled in the girls in the kitchen that morning, choosing instead to shove the rest of her peanut butter and jelly into her mouth and letting Willow do all the ranting instead. She was privately pleased that Spike had put into words what she’d been thinking for a while now, that her girlfriend’s powers seemed out of control. Willow had been less and less discerning over when she chose to cast spells lately, and Tara had watched her aura turn from a light bright lavender to a deep rich purple over the past few months, increasingly unsettled.

Swearing that she would fill them in on the rest of the details later, Anya led them back through to the shop floor. Giles wanted to speak to all of them.

***

Xander had made a pot of tea at Anya’s instruction ( _“Well, I can’t do it, I have to look after the customers,”_ she had said, gesturing towards the empty store which hadn’t had a visitor all afternoon.)

Willow and Giles had seemed rather weary by the time the others joined them for tea, though not unhappy. It had to be a good sign that they had made it through the conversation without either of them leaving. The five of them talked happily, avoiding the topic of magic. It felt safer, although the irony of their current surroundings wasn’t lost on them.

Once the tea was finished, Giles cleared his throat to get their attention. “There was one other matter I’ve been meaning to bring up,” he said, trying to sound casual as he pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger for the hundredth time since they sat down. “ _Remind me never to let him play poker with Spike,”_ thought Buffy. It was never hard to tell when Giles was feeling uneasy, or stressed, or – well, he was a total open book. Quite fitting for an ex-librarian. She’d written it off as leftover nerves from his Big Serious Talk with Willow but life on the hellmouth was never that simple. She should have known something else was up.

“Oh goody. Let me guess, another apocalypse?”

“No, not quite,” Giles smiled wanly at Buffy’s suggestion, “I’m afraid there’s one final issue relating to your… resurrection.”

 _“She’s an imposter, I knew it!”_ thought Xander. 

“She’s an imposter, I knew it!” proclaimed Anya.

“Hey! I am _so_ not an imposter,” Buffy protested as Xander eyed his fiancée with a mixture of respect and reproach, “Giles, tell them!”

“She’s not an imposter.” Giles assured them impatiently, waving a slim, pale hand towards the couple as if to banish the preposterous thought, “For a start, she would have set off the security measures at the house.” The gang had insisted Giles provide them with as many protection spells as possible during Buffy’s enforced leave of absence. Tara and Willow had spent a weekend shielding the Revello house with everything they could think of, including one in which they had drawn up a list of people (and vampires) that were allowed access to the house without setting off the alert signals. The list had been burned in a cloud of thick, mustard-smelling smoke. “Oh yeah,” said Xander, tilting his head to the side dreamily, “I remember now. I had a really great bagel that day.” And in afterthought, “No offence, Buff.”

“It was Anya that called me an imposter, why are _you_ sorry?”

“Yeah, but I was thinking it,” admitted Xander, grinning at his future wife, “I’m just not quite as blunt as Ahn.” He reached out and took Anya’s hand across the table top, giving it an admiring squeeze. She looked pleased and added, “Yeah, no offence.”

“None taken,” she replied, honestly. After all they’d been through, she’d have thought they were fools if they _didn’t_ suspect something was up.

“So, what was the point you were making Giles?” asked Willow, flinching slightly as he turned to respond. Giles was pleased that she was behaving in a suitably chastised manner following their lengthy discussion. 

“Well, you see, myself and an old friend, who’s an ex-watcher, have been doing a little research about the revival spell. We wanted to know if there were any obvious danger signs to look out for, that sort of thing. Nothing came up immediately but he telephoned this morning and pointed me in the direction of some literature.”

“ _Uh-huh_?” prompted Buffy, trying to hurry him to the point. 

“Well, I’m afraid it seems that your return to the world may not have been entirely without consequence.” 

“ _No surprises there_ ,” thought Buffy. 

Xander cringed at Giles’ choice of word, remembering Spike’s warning, _“There’s always consequences. Always.”_

“It would seem that reincarnation spells usually result in creation of an opposing life force to balance out the one being rekindled,” he said. “ _One of the many reasons they are so ill-advised_ ,” he thought to himself.

“Balance out like how?” Willow looked worried.

“The forces of good and --” Giles tailed off, “An eye for an eye, that kind of thing. A slayer especially is a powerful positive force in this world and in order to bring one back to life, a toll must be paid.”

“A toll as in a monetary payment?” Xander asked, “Because I don’t know about you but I’m not exactly feeling all that flush these days.” Anya nodded enthusiastically in agreement. She had plenty of money but she really needed that for herself, after all. Since becoming mortal again, she’d become majorly preoccupied with the acquisition of a retirement fund. “ _Humanity is riddled with design flaws,”_ she had once explained to Xander, _“You get to the end of your tiny little life span and suddenly you’re all old and creaky and your joints no longer work.”_ She had found his response truly offensive. _“Welcome to the club.”_

“It’s more of a metaphorical tax,” Giles explained patiently, to Xander’s relief. “Willow reincarnated a force for good and so in turn, the spell will also have created a balancing force. A force for evil, as it were.” Xander gulped. Willow furrowed her eyebrows, concern filling the rest of her face. Anya looked mildly intrigued.

“So, you’re saying that when Willow brought me back, she also created a demon,” Buffy summarised matter-of-factly, “And now we need to find it and kill it?”

“In a nutshell, yes.” These young people had a real knack for boiling down information to its simplest form.

“Problem solved then. I’ll go out on patrol tonight and kick this thing’s ass.”

Approval and exasperation intermingled absurdly on Giles’ face. “The problem is, Buffy, whatever demon has been created is likely to be a perfectly even match for you in every way.”

“So, we’re screwed?”

“Not exactly. But you might want to take Spike on patrol with you for the time being.”

Xander began to form an argument but Giles added hurriedly, “Just – _just_ as a precaution until we can find and destroy it.”

Buffy nodded. She didn’t know why everyone looked so freaked. This was kind of her specialty. If she’d killed one demon, she’d killed a thousand. She didn’t really think Spike was necessary for backup but what the hell, she could use the company. 

_And Spike was very nice to look at_ , _after all_ , came the unbidden afterthought.

***


	5. Chapter 5 Never Say Never

Having seized the opportunity to go and find Spike, Buffy realised it wasn’t yet nightfall. She thought he might still be sleeping. Closing the mausoleum door behind her, she stepped across the threshold, finding the living room empty. Making her way down the ladder to the lower level, she wondered if she would find him all tucked up in bed, scrunching her nose in disgust when she caught herself enjoying the mental image of Spike surrounded in soft cushions and a heavy pink satin comforter. _“I really need to get a grip,”_ she thought.

She had been surprised, in the course of their adventures in beer-drinking, to discover Spike also had a very swanky restroom down there, all shiny white porcelain and grey marble. “ _Didn’t eat a plumber once and he kitted me out_ ,” had been Spike’s casual response to her surprise upon discovering the en suite, “ _Even us vamps appreciate modern conveniences, you know. I lived through Victorian plumbing, Luv. Once was enough._ ” Of course, she knew Angel had a bathroom but he had generally lived in more civilised locations than this one. A tomb just felt so … tomb-y. 

It was at the bottom of this ladder where she had found Spike’s Buffy shrine last year, an assortment of stolen belongings, photographs and, perhaps most creepily, drawings. She really hoped they had been drawn from memory and not from life, as his grand-sire had once been known to do, waiting until his stalkees were asleep before leaving them a nice little pencil souvenir. Cordelia had insisted that the poor likenesses were “ _The really scary part._ ” Xander sure did have a knack for picking girlfriends who didn’t beat around the bush.

Thinking about it now, she really didn’t know what the big deal had been. So what if he’d wanted a few photos of her? She’d once kept a napkin from the Bronze after Angel had used it to wipe his mouth. She cringed at the memory. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t pay any attention to the room beneath as she descended the ladder. 

“Do none of your lot ever think to call first?” 

Spike chuckled as the slayer nearly jumped clean out of her skin.

“Oh my God Spike, you scared the crap out of me.” 

In the middle of the stone floor stood Spike, unclothed apart from a pair of tight white boxers and clearly in no rush to cover himself up. He was thoroughly charmed by her little outburst.

She half-averted her eyes but not before she got a good look at the package. His lightly tousled blond hair had been pushed back. The usual hair product was missing but decades of running his fingers through it had trained it to fall in that direction anyway. His standard pair of silver chains hung round his neck, one locked shut with a padlock and the other with a safety pin. They rested against his buff chest. 

Obscenely-sharp collar bones drew a line between well-defined, broad shoulders. She already knew his arms were muscly from the rare occasions he’d removed his duster in her presence but they were showing no sign of letting up any time soon. His boxers were cut low on his narrow hips, giving her an eyeful of his impressive six pack and a nicely-carved V leading down to … Jesus, were his boxers too tight or was his dick –

“Massive, isn’t it?” said Spike, gesturing towards the king size bed with a raised eyebrow as Buffy spluttered in response. God, she was too sodding easy to take the piss out of. He was really enjoying this. The slayer’s feathers were well and truly ruffled seeing him in his altogether and he wasn’t in a hurry to relinquish the upper hand, watching her trying and failing to look anywhere but _there_. His inner football hooligan wanted to grab his cock through his boxers, _“Get your laughing gear round that!”_ but he resisted. She was so bloody gorgeous when she got all flustered.

“Put some clothes on Spike,” she ordered, struggling to regain her composure. 

“Oi, you don’t see me barging into your bedroom and yelling at you to put clothes on.”

“No, I bet you wouldn’t.” She smiled despite herself. He winked in reply as heat rose in her cheeks. Since when had they been so comfortable together?

He finally took pity, sauntering lazily over to the low chair by the bedside table, scooping up an armful of clothes and winking at her again, before throwing them onto the bed and dawdling back, dipping his hand into the pile and picking up a black T shirt. Buffy rolled her eyes theatrically. _God, why couldn’t he put his jeans on first?_ she thought, eyes roaming back to his Calvins as if drawn magnetically. She wondered if they were shoplifted, surprised to find that she didn’t really care. There were more _pressing_ things to muse on. _“God Buffy, just drool all over him why don’t you?”_ she was giving herself an internal talking-to and it was doing a whole load of nothing to help.

“So, Slayer,” said Spike, smoothly pulling the thin T shirt over his head and arms, letting gravity do the rest. “To what do I owe the…” He raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting down towards his boxers, “pleasure?” He savoured the last word with a smile. God, he was so full of it. She watched the hem of his shirt fall down to cover his oh-so-chiselled ab muscles, hypnotised. She felt him watching and blushed, turning away. 

“Demon,” she replied, remembering the original purpose of her visit which had previously been escaping her, “We think Willow created a demon when she brought me back and we need to kill it.”

“Aha!” Spike exclaimed, “I knew it! I told that bloody gormless mate of yours, there are always sodding consequences.” He had bent down to pick up his jeans which had slipped off the bed when he had thrown them. Buffy was back on track now, she averted her gaze. She had seen quite enough of Spike for today. Well, maybe one quick peek couldn’t hurt. He stood quickly, catching her eye and gasping dramatically. “Slayer, stop undressing me with your eyes. I’m not that kind of girl!”

“Oh, shut it Spike. Hurry up and get dressed. I need you to go on patrol with me. The sooner we find this thing, the sooner Giles can un-bunch his panties.” He pulled his jeans on, resisting the impulse to make her ask nicely. He had pushed his luck enough for now. “Right then, up we go. You first, I don’t want you sneaking another look at the merchandise.” She didn’t care to dignify that with a response. 

Making her way up the ladder, she was relieved she was wearing workout pants today and not a skirt. Spike was busy thinking quite the opposite. She buried her mortification from the past few minutes. Dying of shame would have to wait; they had business to attend to tonight.

Upstairs in the living room, Buffy filled Spike in on the finer details as he swigged from a hospital-issue blood bag, ran some kind of hair product (which smelled annoyingly good) through his hair and laced and buckled his battered Doc Martens. When she was done telling the story, he threw his duster on and they headed out, falling comfortably into step with one another. Dark had fallen in the time they’d spent playing silly buggers in his bedroom, and he was looking forward to a fight with a demon to use up some of the pent-up frustration that had resulted. 

***

As they walked through the graveyard, Buffy shivered. “Cold, Slayer?” asked Spike.

“No. It’s just –” she nodded towards a grey marble headstone engraved with the words BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS. “Gives me the creeps.” 

He nodded in understanding, “Didn’t think much of mine, either. As I remember it, I frisbee’d it at Angel’s thick head in the 1920s after a night on the tiles. ‘Course, frisbee hadn’t been invented by that point.” Buffy giggled. Nectar of the bleedin’ gods. “Wanna do something about it?”

“About what?” she asked. Spike flourished a hand towards the tombstone in answer. 

“Oh! What did you have in mind?”

“Hang about,” he responded, breaking into a jog in the direction of his crypt and shouting back, “Won’t be two ticks, Luv.”

 _“Luv”,_ she thought, watching him disappear behind a large statue of a cherub swathed in cloth. Last year, his free and easy use of the term had nearly earned him a stake through the heart on more than one occasion. She always felt exposed by the way he expressed himself so freely, had been deeply repelled by his admissions of love. Now she found herself wishing she hadn’t been so dismissive of his affections.

Her train of thought was broken by a low, familiar rumbling a few headstones along. A freshly dug grave shook slightly as a pair of well-manicured women’s hands burst through the soil, tugging at a clump of grass until it found purchase. Sure enough, a pair of slender arms followed.

Buffy tried not to sympathise too deeply with the fledgling’s plight, but was uncomfortably reminded of her all-too-recent experience of breaking through the earth herself. She was quickly relieved of her compassion when a head and shoulders emerged, their blonde, bespectacled owner taking a deep sniff of the air before exclaiming in a high pitched, Southern accent, “Wow, what a rush!”

Buffy’s hand went automatically to her waistband, tapping to check her stake was where she’d put it, as the young vamp climbed out, brushing down her pastel blue skirt suit and clicking her red patent leather heels together a few times to shake loose a clod of earth. _“There’s no place like home,_ ” thought Buffy, wondering if Toto would be along for the ride too. 

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the fledge caught her scent and turned, flashing a million-dollar smile between fire truck red lips. Buffy felt as though she were moments away from being offered a perfume sample. 

“You know, it’s the strangest thing,” began the vampire.

“Let me guess, you’re starting to feel like you might wanna bite me?”

“Why, yes!” 

“Neeever gonna happen.”

“Whyever not? My daddy always told me to never say never.” She took a few confident steps towards her would-be prey, lunging suddenly towards the slayer with both arms outstretched, pushing her chest so she fell to the ground. Buffy grabbed her by the arms, tossing her up and backwards over a few headstones before jumping easily to her feet. This was her first fight since she came back on the scene. She’d forgotten how invigorating it was.

She turned towards Blondie, who was straightening her red acrylic glasses with a squared-off false nail, “And didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to play with your food?” On “food” she took a flying kick at the fledge’s chest, taking her to the floor easily. She whipped her stake out of her waistband in one fluid movement and brought it down through the vampire’s heart, nodding in satisfaction of a job well done as her foe turned to dust beneath her.

“It was a fix! She probably only weighed about seven stone soaking wet,” heckled Spike, who had clearly caught the tail-end of the fight and was sat cross-legged on a nearby crypt, up against which was resting a well-used sledgehammer, “Poor cow never stood a chance.”

“Do they ever?” asked Buffy.

“With you Slayer, not likely.” He was looking at her in admiration, “But fledges are small potatoes. You should really try picking on someone your own size.”

“What, like you, you mean?” she teased.

“No fair. You know I’d love nothing more than to rough you up a bit.” Why did everything that came out of Spike’s mouth sound so suggestive? He smirked and continued, “But we have work to do.”

“Oh yeah, demon.”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” he replied, hopping down from his perch and handing the sledgehammer to Buffy, “Thought we could take care of your little problem.” They walked back towards Buffy’s grave. “Gonna say a few words before you do the honours?” Spike suggested mischievously.

“Yeah,” said Buffy, bringing the sledgehammer across in a wide horizontal arc towards the centre of the headstone. It cracked into several large pieces and crumbled to the ground. She felt powerful, winking at Spike as she finished her speech. “I’m back, baby.”

***

The rest of the night passed largely without event, Spike and Buffy double teaming a couple of curtain-haired frat boy fledges that had emerged from the ground together. One had shouted “Dude,” as Spike staked him, sounding so thoroughly Californian that they had collapsed on the floor in giggles afterwards, Spike grabbing Buffy’s elbow for support. She didn’t freeze this time, riding the high of the hunt and feeling that feeling again, of being _home_.

Once their laughs had petered out, Buffy jumped to her feet, offering Spike a hand and pulling him up beside her. “You’re a real gent, Slayer, you know that?” Spike joked, thrilled that she had been first to offer this physical contact. 

“Oh, you know me. Mrs Manners.” Spike snorted. 

“Sun’s coming up soon, I think we should call it a night.”

He walked her home despite her protests of, “You do know I’m a demon killer, I am perfectly capable of making my own way back,” and she was pleased to have a little longer with him before they parted, already looking forward to the next patrol.

As he turned to leave her at the door, he half-hovered a hand above her shoulder, thinking better of patting her and returning it to his pocket instead. “Night, then.” he said.

“Goodnight. And about the headstone, thanks.”

“Seem to be thanking me a lot these days, slayer,” came his amused reply.

She crossed the threshold and turned back, “Don’t worry, I won’t make a habit of it.”

“Thank God for that.” She pulled the front door closed with a grin and a wave and Spike floated home on a cloud.

***


	6. Chapter 6 One Sniff of Dark Magic

Buffy walked to Xander and Anya’s apartment late the next afternoon, keen to hear the full tale of the Willow and Giles’ Big Scary Talk. As she passed Restfield Cemetery, her head turned instinctively towards Spike’s crypt, smiling as she remembered the feeling of metal meeting marble, his grin as he watched her smash her headstone. She always felt so strong when Spike was around, whether they were fighting each other or a common enemy. She couldn’t bring herself to feel disappointed that they hadn’t found the Resurrection Demon yet. It gave her a good excuse to spend time with Spike that none of the Scoobies could argue with.

As it turned out, the really interesting part of The Talk had been that for which she’d been present, when Giles had broken the news of the evil demon. “He wanted to know about the mechanics, which spell she used, that kind of thing,” explained Anya, practically yawning, “Then he promised to give her guidance when she needed it and she told him she would let him find her a mentor. To be honest, it didn’t look like she was very keen on the idea.”

“No,” agreed Buffy, crossing her legs on a squishy orange armchair to get comfy and recalling the way Spike had sat watching her fight the baby-vamp. “I got the same impression talking to her on the way over.”

“Wait, are you trying to tell me that Willow Rosenberg turned down the opportunity to _learn_ something? Surely it can’t be so!” gasped Xander, who was sat on the floor with Ahn’s bare feet resting in his lap, his back against the fuchsia armchair in which the former was reclining.

“Freaky, right?” said Buffy, “I think _she_ thinks she’s being punished and she can’t see what she did wrong. Although I think finding out about our mystery-demon may have helped a little.” She hoped so. Willow couldn’t just go messing with people’s lives. Apparently, while Buffy was off floating in inter-dimensional space-limbo, Tara and Willow had got into a fight and Willow had done a memory spell to make her forget about it. Tara had found out about it somehow and to hear Dawn tell it, major sparks had flown. After all the damage Glory had done to the poor girl’s mind, Buffy wasn’t surprised she didn’t want her girlfriend messing around in there.

She couldn’t help but sympathise with Spike and his army-altered brain lately, having once happily taunted him with her bare neck and how he couldn’t even bite it if he tried. But experience changed a person. She had felt like somewhat of a science experiment herself lately. She knew for sure the Buffy that had gone into that grave wasn’t the same one that had climbed out. Her annoyance at Willow’s expectation of gratitude for the revival spell hadn’t shown any signs of abating any time soon.

“It’s so typical,” bemoaned Anya, “One sniff of dark magic and they go off the rails. I’ve seen it hundreds of times over the years. I’ll admit, even being a vengeance demon was a little addictive.”

“You don’t say,” Xander replied, trying to sound politely interested. He had often got the impression his fiancée wouldn’t mind another crack of the vengeance whip, generally round about the mid-stage of an argument when she wasn’t getting her way. He rested both hands on top of her soft, smooth feet and promptly lost his train of thought.

“I do.” Anya nodded. “Changing the fabric of reality like that, it’s a feeling you just can’t beat.” Xander frowned and she added an unconvincing, “Apart from being in love with you, honey.”

Xander gave her a forced, sarcastic smile, “Mmm-hmm.”

Buffy cut in to break the tension. “Well, you and Giles aren’t the only ones that think so, Anya. Tara’s majorly wigged.”

“Yeah, I see it. Tara’s more of a dance-around-a-circle-throwing-flower-petals kinda witch. The night we brought you back … well, let’s just say there were no flower petals.” Xander’s face soured at the memory.

“I heard something about a snake,” said Buffy, who had heard the message on the machine before Dawn had got a chance to delete it.

“Is that what that thing was?” was his sarcastic response, “I could have sworn it was the freaking Loch Ness Monster.”

“Oh, stop overreacting,” chided Anya, before conceding, “But it _was_ pretty yucky.”

“Yucky? Yucky is pineapple on pizza, not big slimy venomous hell-creatures coming out of our friend’s throat.” Xander gestured wildly, miming himself pulling a large writhing snake from his mouth with two hands as he wiggled his tongue crudely from side to side.

“What is it exactly that you’re trying to mime there, Xan?” Buffy asked, eyebrows raised in amusement at the obscene charade.

Xander quickly reeled his tongue back in, dropping his hands. “Buffy Anne Summers! Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Did someone say pizza?” Anya cut in.

***

After losing the rock paper scissors match to decide who would go and collect the food, Xander had eyed them both suspiciously before sweeping out and closing the door a little too aggressively.

“I swear, he thinks I’m cheating but he always chooses rock,” laughed Anya, a light tinkling laugh.

“Are you sure that’s all that’s up? He seems a little tightly sprung these past few days.” “ _Maybe it’s just me_ ” she thought.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” said Anya, “He’s mad because I told him last night that I thought you and Spike made a good couple and that he should get off your back.”

“You … _what_?” Buffy couldn’t have been more surprised if Anya had unzipped her own skin revealing that she was in fact two, smaller Anya’s stacked up one on top of the other. “Who said anything about me and Spike being a couple?” She was pleased that Anya had been standing up for her but horrified that she’d been giving out signals that she wanted to … with Spike!

“Oh, don’t get coy with me. Any ex-vengeance demon worth their salt could see you two make each other hot.” She continued, “Frankly, I can’t believe it took you so long to get rid of that Riley. Sure, he was quite lovely to look at but really, Buffy, did you think you would end up with a man who had to get his kicks paying vamps to suck his blood?” 

“Hey! It’s not like he exactly gave me a heads up about that, you know. ‘Oh hey, Buff, by the way, I hope you don’t mind. I’m just gonna sneak off to have my arm bitten by a lady-vamp.’” She shuddered, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “Blegh! I only found out because Spike ---"

She stopped as Anya began to nod in a very smug I-told-you-so way. “Because Spike came to the rescue,” she finished Buffy’s sentence.

“Sorry, Ahn, I just don’t know what to tell you, there’s nothing going on. It’s purely professional.” Buffy folded her arms neatly in front of her, as if to say “ _case closed_.”

“Uh huh, and me and Xander didn’t have sex on that chair five minutes before you arrived,” said Anya, rolling her eyes, “get real, Buffy.”

Buffy sprang up from the chair, “Gross!” gingerly perching on the couch instead and thinking it was probably unlikely this seat was any safer. “And anyway, I kinda always thought it would be me and Angel, in the end.” Anya screwed up her face. “Don’t sugar coat it Ahn, tell me how you really feel! What’s wrong with Angel?”

“He was just so damn serious all the time.” She affected a deep sorrowful imitation of Angel’s voice, “’Oh Buffy, it’s so hard having a soul. I love you so much but I have to run away to LA so I can be sad forever instead. Boo hoo hoo.’”

“I take your point.” It was true, Angel had almost seemed resigned to the fact that him and Buffy couldn’t work. “ _Spike wouldn’t give up so easily_ ,” she thought, remembering all the effort he’d put in to chasing Drusilla and later, how he’d put the same obsessive energy into chasing her. Realising this might be as good a chance as she would get to talk about Spike with someone who wasn’t totally grossed out by the idea of the two getting friendly, she mused, “Hypothetically speaking, even if Spike did have the hots for me, it’s not like anything could come of it. The others think he’s Bad News.”

“And what do you think?” There was the million-dollar question. Anya continued, “And Buffy, the part about Spike liking you? It isn’t hypothetical.” Buffy knew that really. She’d been trying to ignore the elephant in the room. Spike had laid his feelings out pretty plainly to her last year, stopping just short of turning up under her window with a boombox. Come to think of it, he’d done plenty of things that were far more over-the-top than turning up under her window with a boombox. “It’s a lot to think about Ahn. Can I get back to you on that one?”

Her friend, the ex-vengeance demon, nodded sagely as Xander elbowed his way through the door, triumphantly holding up a tower of pizza boxes big enough to feed half the student population of Sunnydale High as he declared, “And not a pineapple in sight!”

***

After they ate, Xander and Ahn headed over to the Magic Box. Giles wanted help finding a spell to locate the demon, thinking it might be a good starter-task to encourage a controlled use of Willow’s powers. 

Buffy headed back to 1630 to take over Dawn-watch, surprised to find her sat on the couch, giggling with Tara. “Oh, hey Tara. Thought you’d be at the store with Willow and the guys.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling too well,” lied Tara, “Headache.” 

“ _Mmm-hmm_.” Buffy thought. “Too bad. Dawn, don’t you have homework to do?”

Dawn knew there was no point arguing. She whisked herself out of the room with a loud, “Ugh!” and made sure they heard every angry foot-stomp as she went upstairs.

“Such a mature young lady,” Tara smiled mischievously.

“Lovely manners, too,” joked Buffy. She thought how pleased she was to have Tara and Will to share the motherly duties with. 

“Where have you been?”

“Getting the lowdown on Willow-gate from Anya,” said Buffy. She noticed concern creep over Tara’s face and quickly changed the subject, “Anya was telling me all about how she thinks Spike and I would make a great couple.” She’d expected a laugh, or a disbelieving gasp at the very least, but Tara just nodded. “ _Why is everyone nodding at me today?”_ “Oh, come on! Not you too?”

“’Fraid so.” Replied Tara with a twinkle in her eye, “I see your aura, remember?”

“And what is it you see exactly?” Buffy sat on an armchair, waiting intently for Tara’s answer.

“With you and Spike?” She began, choosing her words carefully, “Your energy is brighter when you’re around each other, kinda steadier. It’s how mine and Willow’s were when we first got together.” 

Buffy knew better than to ask what Willow and Tara’s auras looked like these days. She didn’t need The Sight to see that there had been an undeniable mounting tension between the witches. Noticing a sad, far-off look in Tara’s eyes, Buffy decided there was only one thing for it. “Get your shoes on Tara, we’re going to the Bronze.”

“But do – don’t you have to go on patrol?”

“The demon can wait a while, I think my friend needs a drink.” She flashed a smile at Tara who beamed back, touched at Buffy’s gesture. They ran upstairs to get ready.

***

After changing into something a little less comfortable (a deep red spaghetti-strap tank top and low-rise blue jeans), Buffy threw a couple of stakes in her purse and she was ready to hit the town. She’d opted for practical boots in case she made it out to patrol later, a few rogue butterflies flapping in her stomach as she wondered what Spike would think of her outfit. 

Tara looked cute, if a little weird, wearing a flowy brown skirt and pretty white blouse with gypsy sleeves. Buffy couldn’t quite figure out what she had done to her hair but it looked very … complicated. “Wow, your hair looks great!” Buffy told her as they headed out the door. They deposited Dawn and much to Dawn’s disappointment, Dawn’s homework, at Janice’s on the way.

***

The night at the Bronze had been pretty much standard issue Bronze-stuff, dancing, watching the band, dancing a little more. It was good to cut loose and even better to watch the lightness on Tara’s face as she swayed side to side, head leaning back as she dreamily bobbed around to the music.

Not too long after, the others showed up, beaming as Buffy walked over to greet them. “How goes the locator spell?” she asked.

“All ready to go, we have to let a few ingredients stew overnight and we’ll do it tomorrow,” explained Xander before Anya grabbed his hand, yanking him in the direction of the bar, “Catch you later.”

“And how are you?” she asked Willow, “Giles taking it easy on you with the whole magic thing?”

“He is, not that there’s much to go easy on. Locator spells are pretty basic stuff,” Willow looked as though she were unimpressed by the magic on offer.

“Well, I’m guessing once we find this thing, we might have to do some pretty un-basic magic to get rid of it.” Buffy said. This seemed to cheer Willow up.

“Hey, there’s Tara,” said Buffy, pointing to Tara who was weaving her way through the dancefloor with a Coke in each hand.

“Oh. I thought she had a headache,” frowned Willow, who hadn’t expected her girlfriend to be out dancing.

“I guess it went away,” shrugged Buffy, accepting a drink from Tara.

“May I have this dance?” Tara took Willow’s hand and they walked off towards the stage. Buffy felt a little annoyed. Here was Tara having a great night and Willow had no right to come and _frown_ at her like that. After all, she was the reason Tara was pretending to have a headache in the first place. Buffy shook her head, trying to rid herself of ugly thoughts. She decided it was time for patrol and made an Irish exit through the back doors, leaving the others to enjoy the band.

***


	7. Chapter 7 Took You Long Enough

Buffy always had her guard up walking out the back of the Bronze and tonight was no different. The beasties of Sunnydale seemed to like the odds at this particular venue and with plenty of drunk college students milling about inside, tonight was no different. She scanned the empty lot where the garbage cans were kept. 

A couple of teenagers were leaned awkwardly against a car sucking face, the boy in baggy jeans and a white T shirt with a flannel tied around his waist, looking far too similar to Giles the night that him and Joyce had … “ _Gross_ ,” she thought, turning to head towards Restfield.

As she started walking, she had the strange sensation she was being watched. She unzipped her purse with one hand as she turned, making sure her stakes were ready to go. “Boo,” came a cheery voice behind her. She loosened her grip on the purse and whirled around to face Spike, who seemed to have stepped out of thin air, holding up two hands curled into comedy claws. “Guessed it was my turn to sneak up on you today.”

Buffy wore a tight-lipped, sarcastic smile on her face. “Oh ha ha. Very funny but I think you’ll find I haven’t done any sneaking!” A ripple of electricity prickled the back of her neck as she noticed him leering at her exposed shoulders. “Fibber! I seem to remember you sneaky-sneaking into my inner sanctum just one night ago. At least I’m fully dressed this time, unlike someone I could mention,” he tilted his head suggestively towards the low, square cut neckline of her tank top. “You wanna be careful hanging around the Bronze dressed like that. Any self-respecting vamp would drain you on sight.” OK, why was that strangely flattering?

“I’ve never let a vamp drain me before, not planning to start any time soon,” she retorted, ignoring the fact that Angel had actually once drained her almost entirely dry, leaving her hospitalised. She didn’t know if Spike knew about that but he didn’t choose to take issue with it if he did. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, of course.” His eyes slowly scanned her body, his mouth open and tongue pushed behind his teeth, his signature move. It looked thoroughly obscene. She hadn’t felt naked before but she did now. “Well, you found me. Where to tonight?”

“Lady’s choice.” He offered her an arm and she looped hers through it, the familiarity of the action taking both of them aback, both quickly burying their feelings about it as they strode off together into the night, Spike shouting, “Get a room!” at the teenagers, who didn’t even bother to come up for air. Buffy laughed. She suddenly felt so alive.

They headed towards downtown, still arm in arm, Buffy choosing a route with as many alleyways and passages as she could think to find. Every so often, one of them would freeze, squeezing the other’s arm with their own as they noticed some small sound or movement, waiting a moment before falling back into step. After 20 minutes passed with no sign of life, human or otherwise, Spike asked, “Geez, did all the beasties go off on a writer’s retreat? My invite must have got lost in the post.”

“Hey, weren’t you a writer before you turned all vampirey?” asked Buffy.

“Poet,” Spike replied gruffly. “A sodding useless one. And the word’s ‘vampiric.’”

“Sodding useless vampire too,” she teased, the “sodding” sounding all kinds of wrong in her valley girl accent, “We’re out here all alone and you haven’t even tried to bite me once!” Spike growled. He was half inclined to have her there and then against that chain link fence. He’d been annoyed with himself for not kissing her last night after their little excursion. He was 50/50 over whether or not she’d let him, and for Spike and Buffy, those were phenomenal odds. 

“You’re a sodding tease, you know that Slayer?” 

“I hadn’t noticed.” Buffy replied with an innocent shrug, knowing full well that she was goading him. Into what, she wasn’t quite sure.

He turned to her, sticking his tongue out in a maddeningly sexy way but as some wildly inappropriate response began to form on his lips, they both froze, prickling, aware that they had company. Two grey-headed humanoid demons had arrived, appearing one from each side in a pincer motion.

Buffy regarded the closest of the demons. Its head was heavily ridged from brow to spine like some sort of pre-historic throwback. Its eyes were pure white with no visible pupil. “ _Slightly creepy_ ,” Buffy thought. Its black lips were thin but what they lacked in volume they more than compensated for with their width, spreading out grotesquely from ear to pointed ear. Its slightly-open mouth gave Buffy a flash of what appeared to be several rows of yellowing fangs and (“ _oh good”_ ) a forked black tongue darting in and out as if tasting the air. 

The demon’s partner looked almost identical, both were wearing black leather pants and sleeveless frayed denim jackets. “ _God, the demons in this town are such fashion victims_ ,” thought Buffy.

“Oh, dear Buffy,” said Spike, pouting dramatically, “Whatever will we do? It seems two enormous baddies have well and truly cornered us.” 

“Two big strong fighters against two poor defenceless souls, doesn’t really seem fair,” she said.

“You know what Buff, I agree,” answered Spike, turning to the demons who had sidestepped closer to one another now, and telling them gleefully, “You probably should have brought some backup.” He winked at Buffy before adding with disdain, “And a change of clothes, you’ve both turned up wearing the same thing.” He turned to her then, one hand raised to shield his loud stage whisper, “How embarrassing.”

The demons’ hackles rose, bristling in anticipation of the oncoming fight. Buffy cast an almost imperceptible sidelong glance at Spike who understood that it was go time. He shifted into game face then, his forehead morphing smoothly downwards into two bony, downturned ridges, partially obscuring his now milky-yellow irises. He rolled his shoulders as if to settle into his second skin, baring fangs and turning to the nearest demon. 

Buffy started things off nicely with a roundhouse kick to the larger demon’s jaw, sending it flying. Spike didn’t have time to admire Buffy’s handiwork though, delivering a smooth left-handed uppercut to the jaw of his own monster, which roared in anger, raising a bare, grey, muscular arm and sending Spike skidding across the tarmac with the rough-skinned back of its hand. Spike stayed down, waiting for the demon to come towards him once more before sweeping his leg easily under both of the monster’s, knocking it deftly to the ground, “Oh come on!” moaned Spike, “What a rookie error.” He landed a couple of swift kicks in the demon’s side then, pulling a silver knife from somewhere in the lining of his duster and lazily plunging it through the monster’s heart.

He used a hand on the demon’s chest to push up into a standing position, readying himself to join the fray of Buffy’s battle and instead finding her standing there, arms folded smugly across her tanned chest. “Took you long enough.” Her demon lay slain a few metres away, half obscured beneath a dumpster with dark blood pooling underneath it. Spike was impressed but not all that surprised at the Slayer’s speed. He shifted back into human form, “Oh, bloody hell. How long have you been waiting?”

“About five seconds before you got yours,” she conceded fairly.

“Oh, well in that case, I don’t feel quite so bad.”

“But you should still feel a little bad,” she gently mocked.

“Not as bad as those two,” chuckled Spike, jerking his head back in the direction of the two motionless creatures as Buffy and the vampire walked away, “Shameful. Barely even put up a fight.”

“No, not as bad as those two.” She agreed.

***

Neither of them asked where they were going to next but they found their way, as if by some subconscious pull, back towards the cemetery. “What do you reckon Slayer, fancy dusting a few more fledges before we call it a night?”

“Oh, what difference will a few more baby-vamps make in a town like Sunnydale,” she reasoned, “Race you back to your place.” She took off at a run through the sea of stone and marble.

Spike wasn’t sure if this new confidence in Buffy came from being reincarnated, or realising that Spike truly didn’t intend to harm her or if it was just some mad sodding hormonal thing but he was being handed a golden opportunity here. If Spike had had much of an internal monologue, he might have thought, “ _Don’t balls this up again, you soft pillock_ ,” but Spike was an impulsive creature and it was impulse which led him not only to race her but to beat her to the door, hold it open and, as she caught up panting, grab her by the forearm, pulling her roughly through the door and kissing her firmly, passionately, on the lips. There was no faltering this time.

***

Well, she was certainly kissing him back, that was a good start. Their lips parted and he felt a hand snake around his waist beneath the lining of his duster, pulling him closer. Fireworks, choirs of angels, rays of bloody sunshine. His inner poet was having a field day. When they finally broke apart, each taking a half step back, their eyes lifted slowly to meet. “Fella could get used to that,” Spike drawled cockily. He wasn’t au fait with American sports terms, having remained dutifully loyal to Man United since the club’s inception in the late 1800s, but he knew a home run when he hit one.

Buffy’s skin was flushed from the running, or the kissing, or perhaps a combination of the two. She looked him dead in the eyes. Time had gone all melty and seemed to be moving at half its usual pace. Slowly, painfully slowly, she brought her right hand to the back of his head. Anticipation swelled overwhelmingly in the vampire’s chest before she kissed him. A single, slow, gentle kiss, unlike the previous one which was borne purely out of whim. This was more tender, intentional. “ _Perfect,”_ thought Buffy. She broke away again.

“Good game,” she said.

“Huh?” Spike’s brain wasn’t processing at full speed yet, he thought he might need an hour or two.

“The race! You won.”

“Yeah,” Spike replied, “I bloody did.”

***

Buffy left soon after. She couldn’t seem to segue back into normal conversation after that and she really needed to get home and get on with the crucial task of replaying it over and over in her head, cementing it a place in the First Kiss Memory Hall of Fame. Well actually, it was their second kiss, strictly speaking but she reasoned it was the first where she wasn’t pretending to be the robot version of herself. That felt a lifetime ago.

She left Spike with instructions to meet her at the Magic Box tomorrow for the locator spell, what she was referring to internally as The Big Reveal. Spike agreed. Buffy got the impression he would have agreed to pretty much anything in that moment. He had seemed almost adorably dazed. He didn’t even argue when she said she wanted to walk back alone tonight. She suspected it might have been the after effects of the goodbye kiss she’d planted on his cheek.

Buffy did not feel dazed. Buffy felt buoyant. Buoyant bouncy Buffy, that was her. Anya and Tara had given her the permission she needed to relinquish control and just let things happen. Good things. Things that gripped her arms tightly as they kissed her. Fuck.

***


	8. Chapter 8 The Big Reveal

Looking at the assembly gathered round the table at the Magic Box the next afternoon, Xander smiled warmly, “Ah, the old gang back together doing what we do best, trying to find a crazy evil demon who wants to kill us all. I love you guys.” He wiped an imaginary tear from his cheekbone with a flick of his forefinger.

Sat either side of him were Anya and Giles, with Buffy, Willow and Tara opposite. Dawn was at school. Perhaps the dancing at the Bronze had done them some good after all, thought Buffy, noticing Willow’s hand, which was twirling the ends of the woven lavender bracelet tied in a bow round Tara’s wrist. Will’s hair was gently curled today, a softer look than her recently favoured poker-straight style. Tara wore a long, khaki dress and a placid expression, far away but happy enough.

A door out back slammed shut, signalling Spike’s arrival. Xander turned to Buffy, over-enunciating his words, “Oh good, it’s Spike. Remind me, why did we invite Spike?”

“Keep your knickers on petal, I’m here on business.” Spike swept confidently into the room, hopping up to sit on the counter and scooting back a little. Xander gaped at him stupidly and Spike provided, “We have a demon to kill?” He turned to Anya then, tapping a finger to his temple with a smirk and mouthing, “Is he a bit thick?” Xander pulled a face.

“Yes, quite right,” agreed Giles in a strained voice which gave one the distinct impression that agreeing with Spike had caused him physical pain. He turned to Buffy, “Anything to report from patrol?” 

He looked thoroughly perturbed when Spike answered instead, “Just a couple of halfwit Halvor demons with a death wish.”

“ _Takes a halfwit to know a halfwit_ ,” thought Xander, giggling at his private joke until Anya nudged him to pay attention.

Buffy was surprised, “You knew what those things were? You didn’t say.”

“Do I look like a sodding librarian to you?” He smirked at Giles then, “No offence, Rupert.” 

Rupert narrowed his eyes. “Mmm,” he said tersely, “shall we make a start?”

The witches murmured in agreement, heading towards the store room and the herbs Willow had left stewing yesterday. Giles and Xander started pulling books from the table to be returned to the mezzanine shelves. Xander’s face was briefly obscured as he closed one of the books a little too enthusiastically, sending up a tiny mushroom cloud of dust, half of which went up his nose. “It’s like watching someone stake a mini vampire,” mused Anya, absentmindedly patting Xander on the back as he continued to choke.

“I think that’s my cue to pop out for a fag break,” said Spike, hopping from the counter. He winked at Buffy, “Coming, slayer?” Buffy saw Xander’s shoulders tense up. It irritated her. Anya, who was standing behind him, smiled at her conspiratorially. “Giles, do you need me for anything?” asked Buffy.

“No, I don’t suppose we do for the time being.” He eyed Spike warily. “The spell is simple enough; we just need you here for the aftermath.”

“The demon killing part, my favourite,” replied Buffy perkily, “Spike, I’ll catch up with you.”

Spike wiggled his eyebrows at her light-heartedly before sweeping out the way he came. Once he was out of earshot, Buffy waved a faux-stern finger at Anya and instructed, “No more of those knowing looks in front of the vampire! And Xander, try not to make that face at me, would you?”

“Tattle tale!” said Xander grumpily as Anya turned to look daggers at him.

“We’ll be out back if anyone needs us,” called Buffy over her shoulder.

***

Having spent an evening going over the finer details of their demon bust-up and subsequent kiss, Buffy had decided that it scored full marks where first dates were concerned (If you could count an alley fight, a cemetery race and a make out session as a date, which she totally did.) She made her way across the back lot to where Spike was sat on a pile of boxes. He jumped down as she approached, throwing his almost-finished cigarette on the floor and stomping it lazily into the ground.

“Alright?” he said.

“Is what alright?” asked Buffy.

“No, I meant ‘alright’ as in, ‘hello.’”

“Since when does ‘alright’ mean ‘hello?’”

“It’s kinda like the English answer to ‘howdy’” explained Spike. God, she looked absolutely glorious today. Wearing a denim mini skirt that he hoped was for his benefit and a white halter top which showed off a vast expanse of toned back, her bouncy hair fell flatteringly around her face, catching the sun. “You look good.” He added. “Better than good, bloody gorgeous.”

She blushed, “How do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Just say whatever pops into your head without feeling embarrassed?”

“I reckon a couple of centuries worth of living takes the edge off. I’ve noticed you’re a little more forward yourself these days, now you come to mention it.”

“Oh yeah, how?”

“Well, you marched into my bedroom trying to catch me stark bollock naked the other day, for one,” he teased. “ _And_ you challenged me to a sexy race yesterday.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realised it was a sexy race,” Buffy joked back easily, “How’d you figure that one out?”

“Well, firstly you were wearing that sodding rude top with the strappy things, which you obviously wore so I could get a good look at you,” he began, her blush confirming his suspicions, “Well, that’s all I had actually. Telling me it wasn’t sexy?”

“Oh, it was definitely sexy,” Buffy admitted, blushing more intensely.

“And do you reckon there’ll be any other sexy races in our near future?” Spike flirted, pulling her towards him with his hands around her waist, so she was stood with his feet either side of hers, their faces less than a foot apart. Thinking back to the blonde hair-sprayed baby-vamp with the red plastic glasses, Buffy smiled coyly, “Oh you know, never say never.” 

And just like that, Spike was kissing her again. He’d pulled her in towards him easily, weaving a hand through the hair at the back of her head. Her crotch pressed up against the front of his jeans, she got a feel of what she’d only had a brief glimpse of so far, moving her hips so his cock rubbed against her, straining behind his tight black jeans. 

“Jesus,” Spike said gruffly, his face moving away from her mouth so he could kiss her neck, smelling that damned fruity shampoo that always drove him crazy. In his Spike the Obsessed days, he had sniffed every bottle in the 7/11 trying to find the one that smelled like her, with no success. He had been planning to use it to add an extra edge of realism to the Buffy Bot. 

Buffy, who had been equally lost in the moment, feeling all those gooey sickly butterflies of new romance, pulled back from him. Spike let out a half growl of frustration as his dick lost contact with her body. “Spike,” she started hesitantly.

“Problem?” He asked, half sighing in expectation of a goody-goody little speech.

“Actually, no. I was just going to say that was lots of fun.”

Where once he might have said something totally barf-inducing like, _“Yeah, once you get a taste of the Big Bad, slayer, you’ll never go back.”_ Spike opted instead for a “damn right” and a knowing smile, which faded quickly to confusion, “Hang on, if it was lots of fun, why did it stop?”

“I like the kissing. We should definitely do more of the kissing. But maybe we could tone it down around the others? I think Xander might have a major freak-out if he caught us mid-make-out by the dumpsters.”

“ _Even better,”_ thought Spike, and “Right you are, Buffy,” said Spike. “And just so we’re clear. In front of the others … you don’t mind a little flirting?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be totally horrible.” She agreed, a little thrill crackling in her chest as she thought about holding hands with Spike in the Magic Box for all to see.

“Grabbing your arse good, bending you over the counter, bad. Got it.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, pretending the idea of Spike having his way with her over the counter didn’t sound totally tempting.

Just then, she felt a warm sensation rising in her chest. “Buffy, you’re glowing,” said Spike.

“Geez, Spike, over the top much?”

“No,” he replied impatiently, “You’re _glowing_.” He pointed a finger markedly at her chest and she looked down to see that she was indeed, glowing. A warm raspberry-coloured light seemed to be radiating from her general ribcage area, casting a haze of pink a few inches in every direction. The pleasant warming sensation of her new pink glow was balanced out by a distinct sinking feeling in her stomach. “Oh, crap,” said Buffy, “this can’t be good.” They turned to look at each other with a sigh that seemed to say “Here we go,” before heading back indoors, Buffy hoping Giles would fix whatever voodoo this was quickly so she could go back to flirting with Spike.

***

Inside, the setting up of the spell had been fairly without incident. Various herbs and salts had been spread on the floor. Tara smiled fondly at Willow who was taking this “basic magic” very seriously, aware of the wary onlooker that was Rupert Giles.

Xander and Ahn were behind the counter canoodling out of harm’s way. Occasionally, Xander would whisper something in her ear that made her giggle. Rupert looked exasperated as usual.

“Coria exponenta persona. Nebula tegumentum. Ego autem illa. Ita erite.” 

Rupert watched intently. Two of the three mounds of coloured salt disappeared. From the spot where Willow knelt, surrounded by little bunches of herbs wrapped with string, came the sound of wind picking up speed. A gentle breeze rippled through the air, slightly ruffling all of their hair like leaves on a tree. “Hey, that tickles!” squealed Anya.

As quickly as it had come, the noise died down and Willow smiled at Giles, “See? No big deal.”

Giles looked quite pleased, “Yes, very good. And you say the Resurrection Demon will be drawn ---”

“To the place the spell was cast,” finished Willow. “Yeah.”

“Oh goody,” said Xander, “A stake out!”

“I for one hope it turns up soon,” said Anya, “Giles insisted we close the shop while Willow did her magic and I hate losing customers.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Hey!” yelled Anya, “I saw that!”

“Whoops,” Willow blushed.

“Anyway,” Xander cut in, “How do we know the demon is a demon and not just some poor unsuspecting witch walking in off the street looking to buy a crystal ball?”

“Oh, that’s easy, the spell makes it glow.”

“Oh sure, we can make a demon walk right into our clutches with a shiny Rudolph nose but can I ever find my keys?”

Giles rolled his eyes, “Yes, why use a key hook when a costly and time-consuming spell will do instead.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Xander, noticing too late that Giles was joking and adding a slightly dejected, “oh,” of realisation.

Just then, the door to the training room swung open and Spike walked through, arms crossed protectively across his chest and followed by a raspberry-lit Buffy. “I know,” she said, “Don’t tell me. I’m glowing.”

“Buffy’s a demon!” gasped Anya, and the room fell silent.

***

Ten minutes later, the gang had relayed the details of the spell to Buffy and were stuck in a loop of conversation, with Willow insisting apologetically that the magic didn’t lie and Xander refusing to believe that this really meant Buffy was a demon.

“You know,” ventured Giles, “It might be that neither one of you is entirely wrong. The likelier scenario is that Buffy came back and something in the spell misfired and instead of bringing back two separate entities, Buffy sort of … absorbed, the demon.”

“Like one of those documentaries where the twin absorbs the other one in the womb and when they find it years later it’s all bits of hair and skin and … I’ll be shutting up,” said Xander as Spike cast him an incredulous glare from his position behind Buffy, where he stood like an overgrown raven surveying the grounds of a castle. Buffy felt reassured by his intense presence. At least she knew the Scoobies weren’t about to pounce on her to dig the demon out.

“Yes, quite,” Giles said stiffly. “Of course, if the demon’s living within a host, it’s not much use against the spells we put on the house as whatever was created is now technically part of Buffy. Which _would_ explain why the alarms never went off at the house to announce its presence.”

“There’s always a loophole,” Xander said, shaking his head ruefully.

Spike’s patience had run out. “Was anyone planning to ask Buffy what she thinks about all of this,” he snapped, “Or were we just gonna continue comparing her to a vanishing twin?”

All the eyes in the room swivelled to face her like spotlights. 

“I don’t _feel_ like a demon,” began Buffy uncertainly.

“But you did say you felt different,” said Willow, which Buffy thought was pretty unhelpful.

“And you have been getting awfully friendly with Spike,” hazarded Xander, shrinking behind his fiancée as Buffy and Spike glared at him.

“And you’ve barely been spending any time with Dawn,” Willow pointed out.

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m just saying, last year you died for her is all and this week it’s like you don’t want anything to do with her.”

Buffy was stunned and hurt that all these accusations came so readily to mind for Willow. “Oh, and it couldn’t possibly be that I’ve had a lot on my mind lately since a certain someone left me to ---”

“Hey! You weren’t supposed to bring up the grave thing for another week!” Willow protested, also sounding hurt.

“Little perspective here, Will,” Buffy reminded her, gesturing towards her illuminated chest with her right hand.

“Do you know,” interrupted Giles loudly, “I don’t think this is getting us anywhere constructive. I quite agree with Xander that there’s no harm in double checking the validity of the spell’s results before we rush to act.”

Willow turned from Giles churlishly, as though he’d just told her to her face that she was nothing more than a two-bit magician at a children’s party.

“Hear, hear!” said Xander triumphantly.

Tara, who’d been watching the unfolding situation without giving much in the way of input chimed in, “You know, if we wanted to check, Spike could always punch you?” 

“Ex-squeeze me?” said Buffy, wondering if she had heard correctly.

“I – it - it’s just, he did it to me once, remember? Back when I thought I was a demon.” She tapped the side of her head with a finger, “The chip?”

“Oh yeah,” Spike joined in, fondly, “So I did. Good times.”

Buffy gave him a dirty look and he quickly added, “But I’m not going to punch her.” 

Buffy turned to Xander with an expression that said, “ _Ha, told you he wasn’t evil_ ” just as Spike’s open hand connected with the back of her head. “Hey!” said Buffy, looking at him reproachfully, “And ow!”

“Never said I wouldn’t slap you.” He chuckled at her indignation, “Anything to put an end to this sodding broken record of a Scooby meeting. And er – hate to break it to you, Luv, but the old brainbox is feeling just fine.”

“Crap.” said Buffy, the silence of the others seeming to echo her sentiment, Willow trying to hide her smugness. “ _Ugh, why does she always have to be right?”_ thought Buffy, noticing how reminiscent Will’s face was of their time spent at Sunnydale High.

“Well, Spike doesn’t usually try to hit people any more, maybe his chip is faulty and he just hasn’t noticed,” said Anya. Spike thought he would be pretty bleeding ashamed if he found his chip had stopped working without his detection. Not least for all the missed opportunities to give that smug witch Red a clip round the sodding ear.

“Yeah,” added Tara hopefully, “His chip might have stopped working.”

“Care to test the theory?” Spike rounded on Xander then who stared blankly at him for a moment before catching on, “Ohhh no you don’t, mister. Don’t even think about it. This face was not intended for use as a vampire punching bag.”

Anya threw him a look, “Oh Xander, don’t be such a baby. Would you rather he hit one of us girls instead? Or perhaps an innocent Sunnydale citizen we kidnap from the sidewalk?” She looked over at Giles, adding, “It’s not like we can hit Rupert, he’s an old man!”

“Oi!” yelled Giles, leaping up from his chair in outrage as if to prove the point of just how spritely he was, before thinking through the consequences of his protest and adding, “Well, maybe Anya does have a point. I am feeling fairly fragile these days,” and sinking bashfully back into his chair.

With a satisfied smirk, Spike took a few steps forward before pulling his leg back and unceremoniously booting Xander in the shin, both men doubling over then with cries of pain and Spike gripping his head between his hands as if he were trying to prevent it from splitting in two. He finally righted himself again, looking at Buffy with a soft expression, “Sorry luv.” 

“Where do you get off kicking me in the shins? This isn’t England you know, we’re not playing football now.” Xander affected an English accent for “football” that made Buffy smile despite herself. She could always count on Xander to be a clown no matter the situation.

“Hey, don’t blame me, you were the one moaning on about your precious sodding face,” Spike threw back, holding his hands palms-out by his chest in mock-protestation of innocence.

“Right then, I should think that’s quite enough hijinks for one day,” announced Giles, who had found his tolerance for being around young people greatly reduced since his librarian days. “Willow, Tara, can you stay a while and help me with some research? We need to learn as much as possible about Buffy’s little … hitchhiker before we can do anything about it.” They nodded.

“I’ll lock up the store,” volunteered Anya, as though it weren’t her job to do that anyway.

“I’ll help Anya,” added Xander, flopping down into a chair and pulling a battered yoyo out of his pocket gleefully.

“I’d better head back,” said Buffy, glancing at the clock, “Dawn’ll be home soon and I need to fill her in on her spooky demon sister.”

Giles stiffened slightly. “Oh great, what is it now?” asked Buffy.

“It’s just,” started Giles, “At least until we’ve ascertained exactly what the ramifications are of the Resurrection Demon ---”

“You need a babysitter,” finished Spike kindly, “I’ll meet you there, Luv.”

“Thank you, Spike,” Giles said curtly, sounding more like what he’d meant to say was, “ _I think I’ve just discovered a rotten egg in my shoe.”_

Suddenly cheerful at the prospect of some quality time with Spike at Revello, Buffy turned to the room at large, “Thanks guys. Don’t worry, I’m sure this demon will be out of our hair and my, uh, body, before we can say ‘sod off’” She smiled at Spike, pleased with her use of his British swear word.

“Oh God,” Spike said in disgust, “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

***


	9. Chapter 9 Evil on Hiatus

Back at Revello, Spike was awkwardly patting Dawn on the back as she blew her nose into a tissue. She hadn’t taken the news of Buffy’s demon problem well. There was a lot of, “Why can’t I live in a normal family?” and, “If you’re a demon how can I know you’re telling the truth?” and, “Are you gonna start eating people now?”

Buffy, who was pacing while Spike perched beside her sister, let out a laugh in recognition of the ridiculousness of the whole scene.

“This isn’t funny. Do you think this is funny? Why are you laughing?” demanded Dawn.

“I’m watching an ex-ball of energy crying about her resurrected baddie-slaying sister being a half demon, whilst being comforted by an evil vampire.”

Dawn let out a shy, apologetic giggle. She’d always enjoyed the release of a big dramatic crying session but Buffy was right, this was by no means the weirdest thing that had even happened in their little gang, let alone the town at large.

“She’s got a point, Bit,” Spike said gently to Dawn. Crying teenage girl was not a language he spoke fluently and Buffy was amused to see him looking at Dawn as if she might explode at any moment. He turned to Buffy, “And oi, that’s ex-evil to you! Well, evil on hiatus anyway, until I can get this bloody chip out.”

“Uh huh, and if the chip comes out, you’ll kill us all on the spot.” She raised an eyebrow. Spike was fooling no-one. Like it or not, he’d planted his flag firmly on the side of the white hats ever since he fell in love with Buffy and he knew it. “Might do,” he mumbled, “Let’s just hope for your sake you never find out.”

“Yeah,” said Dawn earnestly, “Buffy needs you on her team, you’re the only other friend she has with superpowers.” Somehow the word “friend” gave Spike the warm and fuzzies. Buffy chose not to ruin the moment by reminding Dawn that she was still friends with Angel who fell firmly into the superpowers category.

Now that Dawn’s emotional crisis had been successfully averted, they spent a couple of easy hours flicking through the channels on the TV, chatting until Willow and Tara came back. 

***

“Any luck?” Dawn directed at the grown-ups who were sat around the kitchen island. 

Tara was blithely pouring some unappealing sludge-green twig-filled herbal tea from a glass teapot. They all politely accepted a cup. Spike took a sip. “As an Englishman, I refuse to acknowledge whatever the hell what was, was tea,” he said, before adding a, “but it’s the thought that counts, ain’t it,” to Tara. 

He didn’t think much of Buffy’s taste in friends, in fact he thought they were a bunch of wet blankets who couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag, mostly, but he’d felt vaguely fond of Tara ever since the incident with the face-punching at the Magic Box last year. She’d taken it in good humour, “ _Unlike some soft bloody git I could think of_ ,” thought Spike. He had considered his chip-induced migraine earlier to be fair payment for the satisfaction of giving that wanker Xander a well-deserved kick. Shame his pain had cut off the fun so swiftly, a couple more would have done wonders for morale.

“Yeah, we found a few things actually,” Willow began eagerly. She paused a moment as she processed her next sentence, her shoulders dropping along with her face before she admitted, “But so far nothing that will kill the demon without killing you as well.”

“Well, isn’t that just swell,” Buffy replied sarcastically, but added a “Don’t worry Dawnie, they’re not gonna kill me,” when she noticed the worry on her sister’s face.

Spike snorted. “I’d like to see them try.”

“Yeah,” echoed Willow, “Nothing to worry about Dawnie, we’re on the case. There’s bound to be a spell that puts everything right.”

“Your bleeding motto, that,” Spike replied scornfully.

“You know what Spike,” snapped Willow, her eyes narrowing, “I don’t see _you_ doing anything to help. Sure, you might have helped out when Buffy was gone but she’s back now and we can get along just fine without you.”

Buffy was stunned. She was confused to see that Tara appeared unruffled by her girlfriend’s little outburst; perhaps she had decided it was best to stay out of it. “You know what Will, you’re way out of line,” she admonished. Spike, who was out of Buffy’s eyeline, childishly stuck his tongue out at Willow, screwing up his face and thinking “ _Yeah take that, you daft cow.”_ The sight of the slayer standing up to the witch in his favour was delicious to say the least.

“Am I, Buffy? Or is it just that ever since you came back, you’ve been avoiding all your responsibilities so you can hang out with Spike of all people – er - vampires?” Willow’s temper was rising and Buffy didn’t recognise the cruel edge in her voice.

“Dawn, go upstairs, it’s bedtime.” Buffy said in a firm, steady voice. Dawn was glad of the excuse to leave the room and Buffy waited until she heard the click of her bedroom door closing before she continued, “I’m not going over this again. I already told Giles that what I choose to do with my personal life is nobody else’s business.” 

“ _You tell her,”_ thought Spike. This argument seemed to really be working in his favour.

“Yeah, apart from one little fact,” came Willow’s callous reply, “You’re housing a demon in your head. Just you being here in this house is putting us all in danger and you repay us by bringing Spike round here to give us all a hard time.”

“Actually, it’s just you I’m giving a hard time to,” Spike pointed out cheerfully, “And that wanker friend of yours, but he’s not here at the moment.”

Willow took a deep breath, exhaling out of her nose. She reminded Buffy of an annoying little dragon. Buffy curled her fingers tightly into her palms, gripping the skin there to steady herself. As if she needed any proof that Willow was out of control, here she was practically screaming at Buffy in her own house. She turned to Tara, “You think I’m putting you in danger?” Tara looked surprised to have been called on for an opinion.

Willow shot her girlfriend a stare. Tara tilted her head to one side, as if trying to see a different perspective. “Well, you do have some sort of demon living in you. I know you said you don’t feel like it’s in there but Buffy, that’s just it. What if it’s just lulling us into a false sense of security and then something bad happens? Giles did say it was best for you to not be left alone at the moment.”

Buffy blinked, momentarily speechless. She ignored Tara, fixing Willow with a cold look. She knew her next sentence was going to piss her off majorly and she had passed the point of caring, “You know what Willow, maybe you’re right. I guess Spike will just have to stay here with us until you can figure out how to undo this mess you’ve got me into.” Willow glared. 

This was the biggest argument they’d ever gotten into and it felt like every little disagreement they’d ever had was seeping into this one. Buffy was filled with a deep resentment.

Spike, who had been watching the two argue, ready to jump to Buffy’s defence, piped up, “On second thought, maybe Rupert _was_ on to something. You really don’t wanna risk doing damage to poor baby sis, after all. Might be better if you came to the crypt for a few nights instead until we get this thing straightened out.” He finished with a satisfied nod.

“I think you’re right,” said Buffy, tired of arguing and strangely invigorated by the idea of a sleepover at Spike’s. “Will, let’s not argue any more. Can you and Tara stay here and look after Dawn until this whole thing blows over?”

As Buffy had offered an olive branch, Willow adopted a gentler tone, “If that’s what you would prefer to do then maybe it would be best.” She even managed a weak joke, “I don’t think me and Spike being roomies for a week would be the smartest idea.” 

“ _Yeah_ ,” thought Spike, “ _Might not be able to hold myself back from bloody throttling you.”_

***

Having agreed Buffy should stay at Spike’s, the vampire sat on a fluffy pink stool at her dresser while she packed a bag. The legs of the stool were too short for him, resulting in him looking comically overgrown, hunched over with his duster accentuating the awkward position in which he was sat. “Don’t you ever take that thing off?” Buffy asked as Spike wrestled with the excess fabric which seemed to be swallowing his arms whole as he tried to coax the leather to rest neatly under his legs.

“Promise I’ll take it off later,” he smirked. Buffy was both thrilled and a little concerned with that answer. Though she was undeniably keen to catch part 2 of Spike’s Mausoleum Chippendale Show, it seemed a massive leap from hanging out in the daytime, or going off on patrol, to staying overnight. 

Spike, painfully observant and astute as ever, sensed the shift in her body language. “Don’t worry luv, I’ll be a perfect gentleman – well – as much as any vampire could be. Got a futon for when my mate Clem comes over to play cards, I’ll sleep on that. Bloody useless once he’s had a drink. Bought it when I got sick of waking up with his foot in my face, the guy could stand to learn a few things about personal --” registering the disgust on Buffy’s face, he quickly backtracked, “On second thought, that never happened and I own the futon for an entirely normal and different reason.”

Buffy felt the tension of the argument fade into the background as she laughed at Spike’s ridiculous rambling. 

“Of course,” he said, “There’s no reason we shouldn’t have a little fun before bedtime. Could go out and find a few beasties to rough up on the way home?”

“You know what,” she said, thinking that a fight might be just the tonic she needed, “I’ve decided maybe I am feeling a bit demonic, after all.”

***

The handful of monsters that were unfortunate enough to cross paths with Spike and Buffy that evening didn’t know what had hit them. Buffy’s unspent rage towards her once-timid pal, and Spike’s glee at having engineered a situation in which he got to keep Buffy all to himself for a few days, had produced some sort of volatile chemical reaction. They were on a rampage. 

Outside the Bronze, Spike had beaten a Troels demon round the face with its own shoe, only giving in and stabbing him when he heard Buffy tutting behind him. “Sorry Luv, got carried away. You can take the next one.” 

Hanging around the empty lot where the old high school once stood, they had staked a huge muscular biker-vamp in unison, one from the back and one from the front, laughing as the demon disappeared into dust, leaving them stood face to face, stakes raised in a mirror image of one another.

Later at the cemetery, Spike had been thoroughly impressed when Buffy, eschewing the usual methods, had thrown a shovel at a cluster of demons who were sneaking up on him. He had been preoccupied with wrenching his favourite silver hunting knife from a rotten smelling demon with a sticky coating on its skin. Finally pulling it free, “Like the sword in the bloody stone,” he had whipped round at the urgent, “Spike” that Buffy had shouted, watching in total confusion as the cutting blade of the shovel decapitated one of the three, his head popping off like a champagne cork and managing to knock a second demon out in the process. Spike just about managed to finish off the third with his oozing dagger, struggling to see through tears of laughter as he wiped the blade on the grass, removing the worst of the goo.

“Where’d you pick up that move, Slayer?” he asked once the giggles subsided.

“Oh that?” she shrugged, “Improv.”

The evening’s tensions thoroughly released and Spike thoroughly coated in what Buffy had declared “hell goop,” they meandered back to the crypt.

***

As they crossed the threshold, Spike lifted Buffy’s white quilted weekend bag, which they’d left by the door before heading out on their demon-busting bender. He made for the ladder at the edge of the room. “Just gotta get this bleeding demon stench off me Luv, I’ll leave your bag on the bed for you.”

As he made his way down the ladder to shower, Buffy assessed the damage of their escapade, ripping off her favourite leather jacket in disgust at the sight of a couple of drops of unidentified liquid lurking near the hem. She left it near the door. She wasn’t sure she was quite ready to use Spike’s laundry basket as her own. Did Spike even have a laundry basket? It was weird to think of him doing day to day stuff, having spent most of the past few years regarding him as a thoroughly chilling and dangerous individual. She pictured him reading a paper in his only his boxers, boots and duster in the laundromat, nodding at the regulars as his black jeans and T shirts whizzed round in the machine. God she really did have it bad. She remembered having similar flights of fancy about Angel. Riley, not so much.

She raised a hand to her hair, which was pulled back from her face with a plastic tortoiseshell claw clip. She’d learned early on that hair elastics were really not designed with vampire slayers in mind. She grimaced slightly as she worked her fingers through the loose hairs framing her face, working out a couple of knots. Visions of the evening’s battles floated happily round her head only to be clouded by thoughts of her fight with Willow creeping in. She realised she didn’t want to be up here alone. 

“Spike?” she called down, making her way over to the ladder “Are you still in the shower?” She let out a shriek as Spike’s head popped up through the hatch. “Couldn’t bear to be without me?” he teased.

“Something like that,” she rolled her eyes, “Could feel myself starting to feel all Willow-hatey again. I’d rather not go there today.”

He had climbed up the ladder as she spoke, wrapping a strong arm around her waist. “I know just the cure for that,” he said, squeezing her ass as he made off for the kitchen.

***


	10. Chapter 10 Too Bloody Thick

Several hours later, the pair were both what Spike kept referring to as “three sheets to the wind,” which she’d decoded as meaning very, very drunk. They were sat cross-legged on Spike’s surprisingly squishy comforter (not pink as it had been in Buffy’s imagination, but a dark grey.) Jimi Hendrix’s ‘All Along the Watchtower’ was playing on the record player and Buffy, who had been subjected to a lecture on the virtues of vinyl by Angel once upon a time, knew better than to mock him. 

Buffy had her back up against a pair of pillows and Spike sat opposite. On the nightstand was a mostly-empty bottle of tequila with the cap off, which he’d promised was, “Just what the doctor ordered.” Where the tiny plastic sombrero from the bottle had got to was anyone’s guess. Laid out in front of them were several piles of playing cards, an abandoned attempt to teach Buffy poker. “I’m sorry,” Spike had announced, “you’re too bloody dense, you'll never learn.” Which had earned him a punch on the leg.

Spike, an expression of deep concentration on his face, had Buffy’s right hand firmly clutched in his left, a nail varnish brush gripped between his thumb and pointer and the open bottle of “Liquorice” squeezed between a shin and calf in his crossed legs. This had all begun with Buffy asking him if he had a laundry basket, “ _Of course I do, I’m not a bloody animal_ ”, which had led to several follow-up questions: where and when he washed his clothes (It transpired he had a utility room with a washer and dryer and she’d insisted on a tour); how many pairs of black jeans he owned, “ _Dunno, never counted_.”; how often he painted his nails “ _Every couple of weeks_ ”; and whether he would paint hers, “ _Yeah, go on then_.”

He didn’t find the idea of them having matching nail varnish to be anywhere near as vomit-inducing as he might have guessed. He was unsure if it was the look of delight on her face when he agreed or the thought of one of those bleeding Scoobies clocking their couple’s manicures that did the trick.

Buffy hardly breathed as she watched the vampire carefully apply the polish. Her fears about sharing a bed had flown out the non-existent window with their seventh shot of tequila and she’d suggested they come downstairs where it was warmer. “Ain’t got much use for radiators I’m afraid, pet,” he’d chuckled earlier, giving her an apologetic kiss on the forehead which was such a gentle gesture that Buffy’s legs had almost given way.

“What’s your favourite season?” she asked next, enjoying their pseudo-interview.

“Don’t have one. They’re all the bloody same in the dark. Used to be spring; curse of the poet.”

“Favourite movie?”

“Harold and Maude.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Bit before your time, pet. ’74.”

“How’d you get the scar on your eyebrow?”

“Had a little disagreement with a bird in the 1940s and she chucked an iron at my head. Not as bloody light weight as the ones you get nowadays either, mind you.”

“What are you afraid of?” Buffy asked next, thinking it as light-hearted as the previous questions. Instead, her heart jumped into her throat when he looked up at her and answered, “That you’re only interested in me because of the Resurrection Demon.” There it was. His uncanny ability to cut through the bullshit and get straight to the point. He seemed to specialise in baring his soul and unearthing uncomfortable truths. It was part of what she found so appealing about him.

“You really think that?” she asked, a little wounded by the suggestion, “How can you?” She knew really, knew that the reason he could think that was because she had guarded her feelings too closely, spent all of last year kidding herself that she could never feel anything for Spike. It had felt too complicated. Before she had died, she had been so uncompromising. Black or white. Good or evil. _Spike or Angel_. It had troubled her when Spike turned out to be more three dimensional than fitted into her knowledge of the world thus far. Now she was wiser, whether through the passage of wonky-portal time or the knowledge that life was short, she did not know.

“So, what, Luv, I’m supposed to be the bad guy here for thinking you could only want me if you were part-evil? Have you forgotten? I used to kill humans for fun and if it weren’t for this damn chip and my feelings for you and my promise to your bloody tragic sister, I would do it again.” 

“ _Yeah,”_ thought Buffy, “ _If it weren’t for_ all _those things.”_

“I know all that,” she said impatiently, “You were evil and bad and a killer.”

“My point exactly! Wait,” he looked briefly triumphant and then confused, “what’s your point?”

“ _Were_. My point is that nothing is the same now. I know you were on the other side of the fight before and I get it. It might be recent history for the others but it’s a long-lost memory for me. The Spike and Buffy Tragic Tale where I could only bring myself to kiss you when you thought I was a robot,” she ignored Spike’s eyebrows which had raised almost to his hairline by this point, “it was a lifetime ago. Look Spike, there’s a demon and who knows, maybe the demon in me is drawn to the demon in you but that can’t be the only reason. I know you like to kid yourself that you’re still super-evil and I know that there’s still some Big Bad in there. But like it or not, we’ve both changed.”

Spike frowned slightly, trying to figure out if he’d misread the meaning of the slayer’s little speech, wanting to be sure before he started letting himself feel any kind of way about it. “So, you’re saying …”

Buffy gently took the nail varnish lid, pulling the bottle from between his legs and screwing on the cap before setting it neatly on the nightstand. Her nails had dried in the what-seemed-like-hours that had passed since her final question. Her burning desire to find out what brand of cereal he liked had been totally extinguished. If her other questions were shallow, Buffy and Spike were now in open water. Big time. She sat back into her position opposite him. It was do or die. 

It didn’t feel fair to expect him to put himself out there this time. Not this side of the jump. Before, she had let him do all the going-out-on-limbs, remaining guarded while he bared his not-soul. That day when she had kissed him in his crypt wearing the Buffy Bot’s clothes, she had known. Instead, she had walked away, too afraid to face the truth. “I’m saying that you’re wrong, Spike.” she said simply, heart hammering in her chest, “I had feelings for you before I jumped. Still do. I should have told you.”

They sat like that for a perfect moment of stillness, like two figurines serenely suspended in resin. He pulled his hands back from her grip gently, unfolding his legs and swinging them off the bed. He offered his hands this time. “C’mere Buff,” he said gently. She slipped off the side of the bed to meet him, melting as he drew her in for a long, sweet kiss. She felt lighter than air. She’d finally let him in. He’d long since earned her trust, earned his place in her world and now she had caught up enough to realise it. 

***

Spike’s first thought on waking was that he must be the jammiest vampire in Sunnydale. Buffy was fast asleep on his arm and he was grateful that he didn’t have conventional circulation for her to cut off. He didn’t want to wake her. His second thought was “ _Ow, my sodding head_.” 

Buffy was wearing a T shirt of Spike’s. She had changed in the bathroom when their kiss-fest had finally drawn to a close the night before. She’d had pyjamas packed but had been pleased when he offered her his T shirt, not least because he had to remove it from himself in order to do so. Spike was in his boxers, black Calvins today. He’d offered to wear sweatpants, since it had become apparent that they would now be sharing a bed, but was glad when she told him to go without, a light blush creeping across her cheeks. By the time she had returned from the bathroom, Buffy felt a thrill of excitement at seeing his jeans slung over the back of the low chair. He had decided it was more tactful to strip down and get under the covers before she returned.

Spike had thought the slayer looked a pretty picture in his black T shirt, which skimmed the top of her thighs, exposing her slender, tanned legs which were peppered with faded bruises. He had pulled the comforter back a little so she could climb in, putting a muscular arm around her. She had fallen easily to sleep with her head against his chest, him running his fingers through her hair.

***

Buffy stirred, opening her eyes and blinking up at Spike, who couldn’t remember a happier morning. “Hi,” she smiled, then frowned, reaching an arm under the duvet and pulling out a playing card which was stuck to her thigh. “My head hurts.”

“Join the club, luv,” he agreed, sitting up slightly now that Buffy had shifted enough for him to retrieve his arm, “Feel like I lost a fight with a Fyarl demon.”

Remembering his words from the night before, she repeated them back to him, “I know just the cure for that.” She pulled him into a comfy, romantic morning kiss, like pink bubbles popping in champagne. His hand wandered down her bare arm, venturing under the covers, over her hip and along her bare thigh. She kissed him harder in approval, grabbing the back of his shoulder and digging her nails in, dragging them lightly downwards and making his cock stir in his boxers. 

He trailed a hand up under the fabric of his T shirt that she looked so goddamn gorgeous in. She melted under the touch of cool fingers, hands slightly roughened with callouses from decades of fighting. She moved to kiss his neck and gently bite his ear lobe. “God, that feels bleeding incredible,” Spike murmured gruffly. His fingers, which had found the waistband of her soft cotton thong, now ventured tentatively onwards. 

As he started rubbing his fingers up and down against the soft thin fabric over her clit, she moved her hips, grinding her pussy against his fingers. That sodding robot wasn’t a patch on the real thing. He worked his fingers in steady circles then, drunk on the sounds of her pleasure, heavy breathing and the occasional moan. 

A welcome hand had made its way to Spike’s boxers, Buffy revelling in his touch as she started to rub his dick through the fabric. It was too much for Spike to bear. He spread her thighs roughly apart with one hand, shifting between her legs so he could grind his dick against her perfect pussy. 

She ran her nails once more down his back, harder this time and he groaned, leaning back to pull his boxers off as she slipped urgently out of her emerald green thong. He wrapped one hand around the base of his thick, uncut cock, rubbing the tip up against her clit and letting out a, “Holy fuck,” as his bell end slid across her pussy. 

She echoed the sentiment with an, “Oh my God, Spike.” He slid his cock deep into her soaking wet pussy, savouring the warmth of her as she breathed out a gentle, “Yes. Fuck.” It was the first time he’d ever heard her properly swear and he was surprised how hot it was to hear. She lifted her T shirt with both hands then, exposing her gorgeous tits. Spike nearly came from the pure delight of watching her raise her hands to firmly pinch her light brown nipples, totally uninhibited. 

He suppressed the urge to tell her he loved her. She knew anyway and he didn’t want to fuck this moment up by being a soft git. Instead, he went the other route, thrusting his massive cock hard into her hot little pussy and rubbing her clit with two fingers. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking perfect,” he told her, grabbing her ass as her moans became increasingly urgent. 

Buffy had only really heard the occasional groan from the men she’d slept with before, even when her and Riley had been locked in a days-long sex marathon, and hearing Spike’s words sent her over the edge. “Oh fuck, Spike, I’m gonna come,” she moaned, the words causing him to almost immediately bust a nut. He groaned both in pleasure and the frustration of trying to hold back his own orgasm as he felt her legs shaking beneath him. Her orgasm peaked as his began, filling her with cum as he let out a low groan of pleasure. 

He pulled his dick slowly from her pussy which was pounding like a tiny perfect drum, flopping down exhausted next to her and pulling her towards him for a deep, passionate kiss and a tight, sweaty bear hug before drifting off to sleep.

***


	11. Chapter 11 Deep Dark Magic

An hour later, Spike and Buffy were lounging happily on the couch watching cartoons. Spike had even managed to rustle up some Pop Tarts for Buffy which were left over from the last time Dawn had come round to give the witches some alone time. “Anything you want before I go out luv?” He asked eventually. It was so delicious holed up in the mausoleum, he was having trouble getting motivated to leave her. 

It was late afternoon and Spike had told Buffy he wanted to go and put some feelers out in the demon community. Most of the demons in Sunnydale had learned of Spike’s alliance with “the white hat brigade” as Spike not-so-affectionately referred to the Scoobies. They weren’t too happy about it to say the least, but in their world, he was as good as unchipped and fortunately, this meant that he remained firmly in the Big-and-Bad-and-certainly-not-to-be-messed-with category. The vamp could more than look after himself. 

“Nope,” said Buffy, “I think I’ll just listen to some vinyl.” She giggled as his face sank, “Only joking, don’t worry your collection’s safe. I have no idea how to work a record player.”

“Cheeky bint,” he said, untangling himself from her and standing up, “sure you’re all right down here on your own?”

“Spike,” she said, half-exasperated by his concern, “Go! I’ll see you later. Go and find out something that can help me evict my tenant.”

“Your wish is my command,” he mocked.

“I might hold you to that later.”

***

Spike made off through the sewers. Dark would fall in an hour and he wanted to make some enquiries before Willy’s Place started filling up but he had one small pit stop to make first.

***

Buffy was back on the couch, having showered and dressed in a knee-length maroon leather skirt and a white spaghetti-strap top that she thought Spike might enjoy, when there came a knock at the door. Well actually, it was more a tremendous pounding. The thick door of the mausoleum was pretty unwieldy and a gentle knock did not tend to produce results. The hammering then, told her either that the visitor had been here before or was very, very angry. “ _Well, that narrows it down,”_ she thought, getting up to let whoever-it-was in and grabbing a knife from Spike’s handy-dandy wall arsenal on the way, just in case.

She was surprised and pleased to see a familiar trio standing sheepishly in the last of the daylight. She threw her arms around all three of them, Xander, Dawn and Tara, squeezing them tightly before inviting them in. Xander was taken aback by the hug from the not-particularly-touchy-feely Buffy and thought to himself _“That bad being down here with Spike, huh? I knew it.”_

***

Walking into the waiting room at Rack’s hideout, Spike made sure to keep a low profile, sidling over to a battered brown office chair and plonking himself down. He scanned the room to see a couple of demons, a few twitchy human-looking types and a young warlock who was nervously fingering the pages of some ancient tome, no doubt seeking the spell to end whatever mess he’d got himself into. 

In Spike’s experience, Rack’s place was a venue where the visitors fell firmly into one of three categories: witches and warlocks who were desperate and out of their depth, seeking magical solutions to their problems, or solutions to their magical problems; junkies looking for their next fix of pure magic from the dark master warlock and willing to pay any price (which varied from client to client, Rack’s not being the sort of establishment where one would find a price list for services offered); and the final category, the reason why Spike was keen to tread carefully, was evil. Not run-of-the-mill, two-a-penny Sunnydale critters and beasties, but deep dark magic types, the types that Glory or the Master might rub elbows with. _The sort of place Angelus would have come on a jolly back in his day_ , Spike thought grimly.

He fished a fifty from his pocket, whispering a loud “psst” in the direction of one of the shivering junkies, jerking his head to indicate that she come and sit next to him and waving the money aloft. She was a pretty, chubby goth-type with a pale complexion, curly dark hair and a face full of silver metal, eyes sunken through lack of sleep. She failed to hide her interest in the money as she sat down beside him. “Alright? This lovely fifty-dollar bill here has your name on it, just got a question I need answering. Been waiting long?”

She nodded, whispering back, “’Bout an hour. Rack has a special visitor.”

“Is that right,” he mused, not particularly interested in this titbit. He was looking for one guy in particular, a demon he sometimes played cards with who went by Jet. He wasn’t particularly easy to find, more being the type that found you, if he felt so inclined, but this was serious business. “Listen, I’m looking for a guy, ‘bout seven-foot tall, long blonde hair, covered in tattoos, can’t miss him. Ring any bells?”

She shook her head, no. “Nuh-uh, I ain’t seen anybody apart from those that’s sat in here with us. Us and the little redhead Rack’s got in there.” 

***

Back at the crypt, the girls were squeezed onto the couch and Xander sat on the armchair. He had been grateful to find Spike gone, for obvious Spike’s-a-big-evil-jerk reasons but also because it made the purpose of his visit a whole lot easier. “Mind if we have a moment?” he asked Tara and Dawn once they’d exchanged niceties. The girls went to check out Spike’s utility room at Buffy’s suggestion, Tara gazing child-like around the room as Dawn led the way. Buffy thought she seemed a little off.

“Heard about your little spat with Willow,” Xander said.

“Oh boy. It wasn’t pretty and nor was it little.” sighed Buffy.

“Yeah, I gathered. Dawn snuck back downstairs after you sent her to her room, she filled me in.” Buffy rolled her eyes, feeling privately proud of Dawn for taking initiative. “I’m pretty shocked at Willow. She was the one that was telling me that Spike had changed last year before all the Glory stuff.” Buffy was surprised to hear it. “Guess she didn’t take too kindly to being cussed out in front of Giles the night you came back.”

“Guess not,” she agreed.

“Can’t say I’m feeling overly proud of our witchy buddy currently, what with the temper tantrum and the demon-creation. I’m kinda with Giles, I think she needs to cool it.”

“You can say that again.”

“I think she needs to cool it.” He said with a cheesy grin. Buffy groaned. “Anyway, that’s why me and Dawn came down here today. We wanted to let you know that Willow doesn’t speak for all of us. We love you, and I’m on strict instructions from Anya to say she loves you too.”

Buffy was pleased, “And Tara?”

“That’s a whooole other kettle of fish, we’ll get to that in a minute but first, I’ve got a speech prepared.”

Buffy giggled, “Take it away, Xan.”

“Listen. I know it’s been a lot for you since you came back and I know that I probably won’t ever understand what you went through when you went through in that portal and that’s OK. I don’t need you to explain yourself. What you did, you did that for everyone and I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

“Really, Xander, you don’t need ---”

“Hey, it’s my speech and if I wanna say thank you I’m gonna say thank you.”

Buffy looked at him expectantly.

“Oh. Thank you.”

She smiled. “Any time. Although preferably not any time soon.”

“Noted. I just want you to know that you mean a lot to me, Buffy, and no invasion-of-the-demon-body-dwellers is gonna change that.” He paused, taking a breath to steel himself for the trickier part of the speech, “Now, I don’t know what’s going on between you and Spike, but Anya seems to think there’s a chance of it being something that makes you happy. I’m not gonna pretend I understand how that could ever be possible,” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him and he continued swiftly, “ _but_ I don’t ever wanna make you feel like you can’t come to me with your problems just because me and Spike haven’t always seen eye to eye. Hell, I’ll even help you pick out the flowers for your wedding, if that’s what you want. Just please promise me you won’t shut us out? You might not need us as much these days but we need you.”

Buffy put a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you. That means a lot, really. And you’re wrong, I do need you guys. You’re my best friends.”

“So, now that’s all out of the way, how are you feeling? Had any deep demon-y urges lately?”

“That’s the really weird thing, Xan, I don’t feel any different. Well, I feel different from being dead and all so I suppose, yeah, I feel really different. But not _evil_ different? You know? I know you guys kinda thought my hanging around with Spike had something to do with it but I’m afraid there’s no demon to blame for that … I kinda liked him before I jumped.”

Xander tried and failed to hide his alarm at this news, “Oh. That’s … cool.”

“Mm-hmm.” She raised a good-natured eyebrow. “But me and Spike have been on patrol a few times now and it’s been pretty big on the slayage. Whatever this thing is, it doesn’t seem to have any objections to me wailing on baddies.”

“That is weird. Are you sure there’s nothing Buff, even something small?”

“I feel older you know, but I think that was the portal. And I can’t seem to stop arguing with Will, but after last night I’m starting to think she may deserve it.” Xander’s face tightened. He hated to see the girls at odds with each other but that would have to wait. He still hadn’t told Buffy about the Tara situation. 

“Doesn’t sound like you’re doing anything particularly different, if you don’t count the whole –” 

“If you say Spike, Xander,” warned Buffy, “so help me God.”

“I was gonna say the whole Willow thing.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Maybe you’ve got yourself a lazy demon, you know? A part-timer.”

“Thanks Xan, you always know how to cheer me up.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“And it’s roses, by the way.”

“Come again?”

Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “The bouquet, for Spike and my wedding? White roses.”

Xander looked a little queasy at that. “You know what, Buff, on second thoughts, it may be a tad too soon.”

***


	12. Chapter 12 Up to Your Eyeballs

Rack was the sort of warlock you wouldn’t want to bump into on a dark night. He reeked of black magic in such a way that even a human would know he was trouble and run in the other direction if they had half a brain cell. He would have had a handsome face if it weren’t for the taut, glossy skin of the many scars which criss-crossed it. 

His right eye was a swirl of blacks and greys, a gateway to some twisted hell dimension and the left was a clear, watery hazel, partially obscured by an errant lock of hair. His lips were full and devoid of colour, cracked and pale. His unkempt, straight dark hair fell in a tangle to his shoulders. There was a single streak of grey woven through it. He wore a billowing brown shirt which was reminiscent of a concierge in a seedy back street strip club, unbuttoned several notches to expose a smooth, hairless chest upon which rested a large wooden amulet threaded through a skinny leather strap.

Stood on a dumpster on top of which he had placed a crate for an extra boost, Spike regarded the scene within in disbelief, careful to remain unseen as he peeked through the ivy which covered the grubby window. The room within was equally shabby, like a dreary ‘80s office building which had long since been taken over by squatters. Bits and pieces of dated office furniture were scattered throughout. A low laminated faux-mahogany table which had once been the point of congregation for bleary-eyed office workers grabbing their morning coffee was now bare, save for a couple of tattered magazines, one edge of the laminate pulling away at the corner to reveal a grotty black underside.

A clock hung askew on a streaky wall from which the wallpaper had been peeled away in sections like the bark of a silver birch. The battery had died at 6:27 and the second hand ticked rhythmically in place, a metronome keeping tempo in an empty concert hall. Threadbare carpet covered the floors. What colour it had been originally was anyone’s guess, it having muddied to match the rest of the soft furnishings. Spike knew that Rack moved from venue to magically-cloaked venue like some insidious hermit crab. This place did not belong to him but its occupants had long since gone. Even if they hadn’t, it wouldn’t have been an issue.

Stood opposite the warlock was a small yet imposing figure with a steady, powerful presence which radiated out like shock waves. Willow. Her straight red hair framed her pale face. She wore a serious expression and a black suede jacket. The heels on her brown leather boots didn’t do much to correct the height difference between her and Rack, despite which an onlooker would get the impression that they were observing a meeting of equals. 

Through a small chink in the window, from which emanated a long, zig-zagged crack, Spike could hear their conversation, although only one of the voices was recognisable. Willow, when she spoke, spoke in a harsher, lower tone than usual. Her voice, usually sickly sweet and chirpy, was measured and dominant. _The voice_ , thought Spike in an instant of suffocating realisation, _of a demon._

“That’s a fine host you’ve found yourself.” Rack said in a calm, accurate assessment, “I’d wager she’s a pretty powerful witch to stick around so long with you siphoning off her powers. You sure you don’t wanna swap her for something else? I’d pay a pretty penny to get my hands on a talent like hers. Seems a crying shame to let her slip through my fingers. I could offer you something in a brunette?”

The demon growled menacingly then, Willow’s eyes swivelling into the back of her head as if on a carousel, only to be replaced with blackness. The whites had disappeared entirely and Spike saw that her hair had darkened several shades with the transition. Rack laughed quietly at this show of disapproval. “No? If you’re sure.” He shrugged. Willow’s eyes shifted then, black eyes revolving backwards to be replaced with green ones. Raven hair faded to warm ginger.

Spike had seen enough, whatever demon-Willow was playing at, if it involved Rack, it wasn’t pretty. He made off for the crypt at a run, bolting desperately along dimly lit streets. He had to let Buffy know. In the midst of all his concern and anger at the unfolding situation, one high note rang out. The slayer wasn’t a demon. She hadn’t come back wrong after all. He continued on towards the cemetery and home.

***

Back in Rack’s office, the warlock had tensed momentarily as Spike leapt from the dumpster to land on the smooth asphalt below, turning to look intensely at the wall as if such mortal concepts as bricks and mortar did not impede his vision. “Looks like we just missed company,” he said softly, “I’ve seen him around before. Know any vampires?”

“Spike.” growled demon-Willow, enraged at having been caught.

“You know him too? Gets around a bit, that one.”

Willow nodded stiffly in recognition of Rack, shifting back into demon face before sweeping from the room.

***

“So, what’s the deal with Tara? She seemed a little bizarro this morning, even by her usual standards,” said Buffy curiously.

“That’s just it,” said Xander in concern. “When I went to meet Dawn at Revello earlier, she said Tara had been acting weird all week.”

“Huh. Willow never mentioned anything.”

“Yeah, but when I started thinking about it, she’s been a little out of it the last few times I’ve seen her. We thought we’d bring her along. Willow went out somewhere and I thought it was best to keep an eye on her.”

“Now that I think of it, she has seemed a little spacey lately but I kinda thought that was her new-age vibe, you know?”

The pair went down the ladder to find Dawn and Tara who had finished checking out Spike’s modern facilities and were now sitting on the bed, Dawn chatting away about high school politics whilst Tara nodded politely.

“Hey T,” said Xander, “How you feelin’? Noticed you were a little out of sorts earlier, remember?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” replied Tara vaguely.

Buffy frowned, suddenly reminded of Tara’s Glory-induced psychosis.

“You sure you’re OK Tara?” she asked gently.

“I’m …” Tara tailed off dreamily. Dawn looked alarmed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she was frowning in concentration, giving the impression that the words were hard to come by. Buffy shot Xander a something-is-majorly-not-OK look and he raised I-told-you-so eyebrows in response.

“I have an idea,” said Buffy, trying to sound calm, “Why don’t we all head over to the Magic Box together and see if Giles is around.” She hoped desperately that whatever was going on with their newest group member had nothing to do with her resurrection demon, guilt rising uncomfortably in her chest. “Great idea,” said Xander. Dawn, Buffy and Xander were all gripped by a sinking sensation. They kept their voices light and breezy as they quickly grabbed their things and headed out.

***

When Spike returned to find the crypt empty, he tried not to panic. The slayer could look after herself and after all, Red would be with Rack a good while longer, with any luck. He quickly downed a bag of blood, thinking he would try the magic shop first. 

Closing the refrigerator door, Spike felt her presence even before she spoke and froze. “ _Bugger_ ,” he thought. It was not exactly the order he planned to do things in but if that’s the way Red wanted it, so be it.

“Looks like your girlfriend already left,” came the confident demon-version of Willow’s voice, “what a pity.”

He turned calmly to face her. She appeared to be halfway between the demon-Willow and regular versions of herself, red hair tinged dark at the tips and onyx eyes.

“Alright, Red?” he said coolly, “Not too sure about the new look. Hell-bitch-on-a-mission is very last season.” Her hair flashed briefly black before returning to its usual red. “Looks like you’ve got a little power struggle going on up there,” he said, waving a finger in a circular motion by his head, “Is that what you were doing at Rack’s place, trying to hurry along the changeover?”

Demon-willow remained silent, fixing Spike with a red-hot glare. “What’s up Red, cat got your tongue? Listen, I’m not gonna pretend I’m not bloody ecstatic that this big bad beastie managed to get into your head instead of Buffy’s. She didn’t deserve it. That said, I don’t reckon my girl’s gonna be too happy when she finds out her best mate’s been body-snatched by a resurrection demon, so I’m afraid that monster’s gotta go.”

“Oh Spike, you just don’t get it, do you? Only one of us will make it out of this crypt alive and I’ll give you a hint, it isn’t the one that’s already dead.” Black was creeping along the roots of her hair.

“Spare me the routine would you, it’s so over-bloody-done. Judging by the dye job, I’d wager you and the demon are merging into one, am I right? And if that’s the case, Red, it means you weren’t all good to begin with, see? The way I figure, you must have been up to your eyeballs in dark magic to have even kept the demon form suppressed this long. Unfortunately for both of us, I’m gonna have to let Buffy know so she can do her hero bit and fix you. Coz after all the stunts you’ve been pulling lately? It would be my pleasure to put an end to you myself.”

Demon Willow’s hair was a Rorschach blot of changing black and auburn now and she looked mega-pissed to say the least. Spike wasn’t sure he could take on this half-demon half dark-witch combo in a fight and win, not if he had to keep the useless cow alive but luckily, he still had a little souvenir from the last time Dru had paid him a visit. He kept talking to distract her, forming a plan as he paced around the kitchen. He had already fished a kitchen knife out of a drawer unseen and it was secreted in the deep pocket of his duster. He fleetingly hoped he wouldn’t tear a hole in his satin lining. The amount of times he’d had this bloody coat re-lined over the years didn’t bear thinking about and it cost a pretty penny to find a tailor who could rise to the task.

“So, if you wanna fight, I say we get it out of the way. What’s it to be? Tae-kwon-do? Hair-pulling? Choose your poison.” He’d walked forward to the edge of the couch as he spoke, lightly kicking the handle of the cattle prod, which he had slid underneath it just in case. In London, you were never more than six feet away from a rat. In Spike’s home, you were never more than two away from a weapon. It was an approach that had served him well thus far. “Of course,” he continued, fingering the hilt of the knife in his pocket, ready to make his move, “If you wanna do it the old-fashioned way, I could just use this.”

He pulled the knife from his pocket then, knowing that the witch would be distracted by it. Sure enough, Willow roared with rage, holding a trembling arm out in front of her as she walked towards the couch. Blue veins of electricity jolted from her palm and Spike felt the knife yanked magically from his grip, snapping into Willow’s hand as she advanced on him. Spike dropped to the floor fast, as if ducking in fear, adding an, “oh shit,” for dramatic effect. 

As she rounded the couch, knife raised in her hand, her low voice let out a loud, hearty laugh, “It’s almost too easy,” she jeered.

“Funny,” said Spike, jabbing the cattle prod at her with a casual flick of the wrist and watching in satisfaction as she fell to the floor, “I was gonna say the same thing myself.”

***

Anya had solved the Tara mystery almost immediately when they entered the store. “Oh God, who put a fugue on Tara?” she had asked worriedly.

“A who now?” Xander had asked.

“A fugue, a mind-control spell. Couldn’t you tell? Yikes. I thought she seemed a little off the other day but jeez, someone really ramped it up a few thousand notches. It’s a miracle she’s still standing under a spell this strong.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Dawn, panicking, “Can you get her back?”

“Oh sure, no problem. They’re really easy to reverse, it’s simple magic.” Dawn, Buffy and Xander exhaled a collective sigh of relief. “The main problem is detecting someone’s been fugued in the first place. It’s normally almost impossible to know when someone’s under the curse because they tend to act pretty placid unless they’re under instruction from the spell caster to do anything different. Whoever did this got a bit trigger happy with the mojo. She looks pretty zonked.” She waved a hand in front of Tara’s face. Tara blinked, “Jeez. Hopefully she’ll be able to tell us something more about who did this to her.”

“Wait,” said Buffy, “You don’t think I did this? The demon, I mean.” 

“It can’t have been. It’s the sort of magic that can only be done by a powerful witch or warlock, the demon wouldn’t be able to do something like this.” Relief washed over Buffy. “Give me two minutes,” Anya said, hurrying towards the basement stairs, “I’ve got just the thing.” 

Dawn burst into tears and threw her arms around Tara.

***

Having dosed the demon Willow with a few more jolts from the cattle prod (he figured the double helping of superhuman might take more subduing and besides, now that Willow was truly dark, Spike was enjoying his revenge), he chained her up quickly using the same shackles that had once held Buffy whilst he confessed his undying love for her, before making off for the Magic Box, hoping against hope that Buffy was there.

***

Back in the store, Tara was now in her right mind, having been handed a small orange orb, which she had accepted with a non-plussed expression, and having been sprinkled with some ready-potion from the shelves of the shop floor, they had seen horror and understanding flood into her eyes.

The gang had made her a cup of her favourite weird herbal tea and gave her some space, not wanting to bombard her with questions but keen to know what the hell was happening. Eventually, the good witch answered their un-asked questions with an answer none of them was expecting.

“It was Willow. She did this to me the night we went to the Bronze.” Her eyes filled with tears as she recounted the tale, explaining all about how she’d suspected Willow had a problem with the dark magicks, having used magic more and more frequently until she could no longer go a day without it. She told them how their arguments had become increasingly heated ever since Willow had forced Glory to remove the curse on her brain.

Buffy listened intently, disappointed to learn of her friend’s downwards trajectory and heartbroken on Tara’s behalf. Having her mind cursed by Glory had been one time too many but here she was again, déjà vu.

As they began discussing a plan to get Willow some sort of help for her problem, Giles came in through the front door with a tinkle of the bell. Looking confused at the tableau before him, Dawn and Tara both in tears and Xander, Buffy and Anya looking gravely concerned, he asked lamely, “Is everyone alright?”

“Willow’s gone bad, she gooped Tara’s brain at the Bronze,” Xander summarised neatly.

“Eloquent as ever, Xander,” Anya remonstrated and Giles smiled at her in approval briefly, before settling on a look of utter bafflement. “Would anyone care to translate that into English for me?” came his bemused response. 

Anya provided, “Willow put Tara under a fugue spell a few days ago. She must have strengthened it this morning because none of us noticed until she started acting all crazy-lady today. By the sounds of things, she’s been doing dark magicks behind all of our backs for a while now but now she’s really crossed the line.”

“Yeah, _now_ she’s gone too far.” said Xander, “Because puking up a cobra and dragging your friend from another universe is just a regular Saturday night.”

Everyone ignored him.

***


	13. Chapter 13 In Your Head

At the store, the gang were arguing about whether Willow needed help or retribution. They all felt sympathetic as well as fiercely protective of Tara, and therefore unbelievably furious. Giles decided to interrupt with a more concrete subject matter, unleashing his trademark Rupert Giles throat-clearing cough. “I hate to remind everyone but Willow is not our only problem here. I actually came here to tell you I’ve made some headway with regards to the resurrection demon.” The group turned to watch, grateful for the break in their heated discussion.

“It’s a highly rare parasitic form, so it’s not well-documented which is why it took a while to find it.” He took a deep breath, looking kindly and apologetically at Buffy before continuing with the gory details, “Instead of taking a corporeal state, it latches onto the brain of a host, taking over functions of the mind and body. Once the demon gains full control, the host dies, becoming a sort of empty shell which houses the creature,”

He flicked open a dog-eared green book which Buffy guessed he must have borrowed. Giles took pride in keeping his own collection in pristine condition. Buffy noticed with a small smile that despite the battered appearance of this particular volume, Giles was still handling it as if it were a Faberge egg. He read from the page, “It is exceedingly rare for a resurrection demon to take a parasitic form. Usually this occurs in the presence of a strong super power or skill in the host which the demon can use to its advantage.”

“Well, at least you know you’re special,” joked Xander. 

_Buffy, who was processing the contents of Giles’ speech, didn’t respond. A parasitic demon that lived inside the brain of the host. “You’re housing a demon in your head,” Willow had said to Buffy the day they had done the locator spell_. Buffy’s blood ran ice cold as understanding hit her like a bus. “You’re housing a demon in your head!” she exclaimed, startling Giles who, like the others, had no idea what she was on about.

“No actually Buff, that would be you. Pay attention much?” Xander looked at her sweetly as if thinking that her poor brain must already be too demon-addled to understand.

“No,” said Buffy, her voice steady but urgent as she hurried to explain, “Willow said that to me the night of the locator spell. Just before she goaded me into leaving the house.”

“So, there’d be nobody to keep an eye on her,” Xander was catching up slowly. Giles, who had understood what Buffy meant the instant she had spoken, was pacing nervously, a creeping dread spreading from neatly combed hair to his polished brown lace up shoes.

“You got there in the end, Xan,” said Anya sweetly.

“They’re both demons!” Xander concluded triumphantly.

“No dummy,” said Dawn, eyes rolling as if she couldn’t believe that even she, a high schooler, had figured it out before him, “Buffy’s just Buffy. _Willow_ ’s the demon.”

“Ohhh,” he said, adding a moody, “I would have got there in the end.”

“Of course you would, honey,” Anya reassured him gently.

At that moment, Spike burst through the front door. 

“You’re not a demon Buffy. It’s Willow. Willow’s the demon,” he declared dramatically, scanning their faces before lowering his voice to say, “And none of you look at all surprised, so I’m gonna take a wild stab in the dark and guess you already figured that out.”

“Pretty much.” said Buffy.

“Kinda stole my thunder there,” he said with a small grin.

“Sorry.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Xander only half-figured it out.” said Dawn. 

Spike, who was beyond relieved to have Buffy back where he could see her, made a beeline for her, grabbing her firmly around the waist and kissing her deeply, much to Dawn, Tara and Anya’s delight and Giles and Xander’s revulsion.

Giles waited politely for them to break apart before he carried on, “Yes yes, very well. Spike, I expect you’ve got some information for us?”

“Yeah,” said Xander, “How did you find out about Will anyway?” finding his stride and adding, “And if Buffy’s not a demon, why was she all pink and glowy? I don’t remember her ever doing that before.”

Spike answered both questions, “Obvious, ain’t it? Red must’ve rigged the spell to point the blame at Buffy. Make sure her demon went undetected. Not too soddin’ thoughtful as homecoming gifts go but there we are.” He relayed the details of his visit to Rack’s then, pausing at various points to let them process the tidal wave of information. Once he had caught them up, a drawn-out silence cloaked the group which was eventually broken by Xander.

“Sweet holy mother of Jesus,” he said in a stunned, low voice.

“Seconded” said Buffy.

Tara had taken Dawn’s hand reassuringly mid-tale and the two sat there, gripping each other’s fingers tightly for comfort. Even Anya, usually first to comment on such matters, was lost for words.

Spike turned to Giles, “What do you reckon, Rupert? We probably don’t have too long until Red gets free and heads over here. We could try and sod off somewhere else to give us a head start but I doubt it’ll make a ha’porth of difference, all said and done. We’re just as well sticking around here and having the big bad punch-up on home turf, I reckon.”

“I agree, we oughtn’t move. At least we know the layout of the shop and if we move, we risk wasting valuable planning time.”

“What’s wrong with him? Got a face like a smacked arse,” Spike added, jerking his head towards Xander who was indeed gaping at the two Brits with a look of disbelief on his face.

Xander turned to the girls, “Did any of you understand a word that just came out of their mouths?”

“Nope,” said Dawn and Tara.

“Not a one,” agreed Buffy.

“Something about ‘sod off’ and a ‘big bad punch up’,” Anya offered.

Spike and Giles rolled their eyes at each other, Spike adding, “You’d think it was us speaking their language and not the other way round.” 

Giles, who quite agreed and as such, felt quite confused at being in agreement with Spike for the third time this week, took pity on the Americans and said kindly, “Right you are. Spike and I think it would be best to hunker down here for the time being. Willow will likely come straight here when she gets free but at least we have some time to figure out a plan of action.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so?” said Xander, finally understanding, “Sounds good to me. Buffy?”

“All in favour of staying here?” said Buffy and six hands shot up and the matter was settled.

***

Two hours had passed and it was looking increasingly likely that Willow had decided not to play by their rules. Giles and Anya thought they had found a spell that would separate the demon into its own corporeal form for long enough that Buffy could slay it but now they were presented with the problem of finding her in the first place. The initial elation they’d felt at finding the spell before the dark witch’s arrival had been overtaken by a sense of frustration and panic that she was off somewhere entirely unknown to them doing God knew what.

Eventually, Xander had pointed out that for all they knew, Willow could still be tied up in Spike’s mausoleum. Although none of them thought it likely, they welcomed the chance to do something that wasn’t making them feel like sitting targets. Anything to distract them from their own thoughts. Anya and Giles had given the gang a rundown on the dangers of getting caught up in black magic. How it was addictive and volatile. How it could alter its users until they barely resembled the person they were before they got hooked. How even if they separated Willow from the demon, they couldn’t be sure what they would be facing. 

They all felt extremely uneasy at the possibilities of what the demon and the witch could do, apart from Spike, who having been reunited with Buffy, was now well and truly riled up and “ _ready to knock some heads together_ ”, which Buffy found strangely comforting. Xander’s suggestion to check the crypt was a welcome alternative to sitting there and imagining Willow’s fate.

They had grabbed as many supplies as would fit in Xander and Giles’ backpacks, the existence of which had caused Spike to call them “a pair of bloody anoraks”. They headed out the back exit, taking the sewers so they would be less vulnerable to ambush. Spike led them the same way he’d taken Buffy the day with all the beer-drinking and Buffy felt a strange pang of romance in the midst of all the worry, taking a very happy Spike’s hand and holding it the whole way there.

***

When they got to the crypt, they made their way through the bedroom, Xander suspiciously eyeing the open, almost-empty bottle of tequila on the night stand. “Big party last night, guys?” he asked pointedly. Buffy and Spike grinned at each other and Spike replied, “I doubt you really wanna know mate,” at which Xander promptly shut up. Dawn covered her ears with both hands in mock disgust and Anya laughed and said, “Well, what did you expect?” to Xander.

“Look,” said Tara, who had been understandably quiet since regaining her mental faculties. She pointed at the corner where the shackles were still hanging from the brackets on the walls. The metal cuffs were cracked and melted where the witch had made her magical getaway. 

“God knows how long she was down here before she came round,” said Spike, “But now we’ve given her a two-hour head start.”

“Yes,” Giles agreed, “And if she’s chosen not to come to us, it’s unlikely we’ll find her until she’s ready to be found.”

“Why can’t you just do another locator spell?” asked Dawn.

“Fraid that won’t work Little Bit,” Spike explained, “she knows we’re looking for her now. Look at all the effort she went to, to not be detected the first-time round, putting the blame on your big sis.” He bristled at the memory, thinking he would gladly kill her for that fact alone if it weren’t for Buffy. "Nope, if we want to find her, we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

“What’s the old-fashioned way?” she replied. Spike cupped his left hand like a catcher’s mitt, balling his right into a fist and slamming it aggressively into the left with gritted teeth. He looked up at Dawn then with a grin. “See?”

The decision was made that they would encamp at the Revello house until they could find Willow. It already had protection spells on it and even though they would still allow Demon-Willow in, they were better than nothing. At least they knew she couldn’t bring company in if she did change her mind and decide to visit. It was decided that Spike and Buffy would wait until closing time at Willy’s Place in the early hours and try to squeeze him for information without arousing suspicions among the Sunnydale demons. The last thing they needed was Willow finding out what they were up to.

“You guys head out,” Buffy told the group, “Giles can sleep in mom’s old room and Tara can have mine. Xander and Anya can take the cot in the basement. You know where the weapons are Giles, make sure everyone has one before going to bed, just in case.”

“Even me?” Dawn said hopefully.

“Even Dawn,” Buffy conceded, “But let’s hope you don’t need to use them. We’ll stay here and try and get a few hours’ sleep before we go to Willy’s. We’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe we can find out where Willow is but if not, at least we may be able to get a feel for what she’s up to.” If anything was going on in the underworld, the news spread to Willy’s Place like wildfire. Perhaps it was no surprise that evil nasties didn’t guard the secrets of their peers with respect.

Spike and Buffy waited until the others had caught a taxi. Giles had been pleasantly surprised to find Spike had a phone, and a cordless one at that.

“Right?” said Buffy, “He’s even got a washing machine.”

“I don’t get what the big deal is,” Spike said dismissively, “I was _born_ in the 1800s, I don’t live there now.”

They had decided on the cab because the streets were far too exposed, but the sewers were too winding and potentially beasty-filled to be safely used without Spike or Buffy.

They waited all of 10 seconds after the others left before racing each other for the ladder and jumping into bed.

***


	14. Chapter 14 Magic Most Evil

A few hours later, Spike woke with a start, checking the digital alarm clock to find they still had plenty of time to make it to Willy’s. He looked fondly at a still-sleeping Buffy. They hadn’t done anything last night apart from making out and somehow, he felt more fulfilled than if he’d gone ten rounds with Drusilla, which was saying something as Dru had been as delightfully unhinged in the bedroom as she was in all the other areas of her life. 

He had been finding it increasingly difficult not to declare his love for Buffy but things were going amazingly and he didn’t want to jinx it. He figured he would hold back on that front until she met him halfway. Last year, he had realised his feelings for Buffy and then once she got wind of it, he had expected her to catch up and immediately feel the same way. It was something he had felt much guilt over since her death. Buffy wasn’t the only one who had matured in her time beyond the portal. He kissed her on the head, breathing in that intoxicating fruity scent as she stirred.

“Morning sleepyhead. We’d better get going.”

***

Buffy dressed in what she hoped was an intimidating outfit: black leather trousers with black flats and a high-necked sleeveless maroon top which made her arms look bloody sexy, in Spike’s opinion. Spike needed no help looking the part.

On the way to the bar, he gave Buffy the brief. “I know you’ve been to Willy’s before to get intel but today we need to be slicker than usual. No doubt if he’s heard rumblings, he knows exactly how dangerous Red is. He won’t want to give it up unless we let him know we mean big business. I know you’re gentle with him sometimes, which is sodding mental behaviour at the best of times but none of that today. It’ll be easier to get an answer if he doesn’t know too much about the circumstances of your little holiday either. You’ve gained a nice air of mystery in your absence and you might as well use it to your advantage. No harm if he thinks you came back super-bad. Speaking of which,” he switched into game face then, teeth elongating into fangs, brow bone shifting and eyes morphing into that light yellow shade that made him look so predatory.

“You done?” She asked with a smile.

“Think so, yep.”

“Good,” she said, promptly kissing him hard on the mouth. When they broke away, Spike looked at her as if she had totally lost her mind. “What?” she demanded.

“You kissed me!”

“Well, duh, I’ve been doing that all week in case you haven’t noticed. And anyway,” she said, looking a little hurt, “you started it.”

“No, you daft bint, I meant you kissed me looking all vampiric.”

“Struggling to see your point here, Spike.” 

He was rendered temporarily mute by an immense feeling of love. “Just figured you wouldn’t want to when I look like this.”

“Spike, I like you even when you’re all ‘Grr argh’.” And as if to prove her point, she kissed him again. “Anyway,” she said in afterthought, “you do realise I dated a vampire long before you came on to the scene.”

“Yeah, about that unbelievable tosser,” Spike grumbled, “I’ve been meaning to tell you it might be a good idea for us to get him on the blower. See if he fancies coming down here and givin’ us a hand with the old Big Red situation.”

Buffy breathed out a huge sigh of relief, “Oh thank God,” she said, “I’d been thinking the same thing but I was hoping you'd bring it up first.”

“Worried I’d get jealous, pet? It’s him who’s gonna be jealous when he sees who you’re hanging around with now. Although, I suppose you might want me to keep it on the down low around him?”

“Why?” she asked, surprised, “You’re not the first boyfriend of mine that Angel’s met. He’s gonna have to deal.”

The word “boyfriend” paraded cheerfully around Spike’s head, banging cymbals and waving a flag as they stopped at a pay phone near Willy’s. Buffy dialled Angel’s number, giving him the abridged version of the week’s events which pretty much amounted to, “Hi, it’s Buffy… Yes, Buffy... Yes, Buffy Summers… Oh, that... Yeah, I know… Willow brought me back from the dead and in the process, she absorbed a demon and now she’s gone evil but it turns out she was already messing with the dark arts before that and everything’s pretty messed up and she’s been hanging out with Rack so we could really appreciate your backup.” 

She then told him she’d fill him in when he got there and he agreed to leave the moment his head stopped spinning. Buffy thought that it would be spinning even faster when he found out she had a new vamp in her life. It might spin clean off his head when he found out that the vamp in question just so happened to be his grandchild.

***

By the time they reached Willy’s, it was around 4am and they hung around the dumpsters waiting for the stragglers to move on and watching an attempt at a drunken fight between two demons, which ended when a red demon in a mini skirt with horns, fishnets and black high-heeled boots had pulled the larger of them away, yelling something about him never being able to stay out of trouble.

A sign on the brick exterior had been missing the W, Y, S, B and G ever since Spike could remember and now read “ILL ‘ AR and RILL” in neon green and blue. It buzzed pleasantly in a way that always made him think fondly of nights spent in Brooklyn on the razz.

When the coast was clear, Buffy sighed in relief, “You know, when I signed up for this slayer gig, nobody told me there would be so much hanging around dumpsters.”

“You didn’t sign up for it.”

“No but still, they could've mentioned it in the welcome brochure.”

He gave her an affectionate kiss on the top of her head and took her by the hand as they walked towards the faded, peeling blue doors that led into the bar. Where once there had been a large, bristly doormat adorned with the phrase “Welcome to Willy’s”, in its place now were its worn, well-trodden remnants, the lettering illegible to anyone who couldn’t remember the glory days. 

Leading from the green-tiled hallway were two doors with painted black letters reading “Restrooms” and “Bar This Way”. Choosing the latter, to their left, Spike tried the door and found it locked. He turned to Buffy with a smirk, looking her in the eyes as he planted the underside of his right boot on the wood, sharply applying downwards force. Something metal, presumably the lock, clattered to the floor and he opened the door with a flourish, holding it open with a mockingly chivalrous, “After you, madame.”

The ceilings of the bar were high, cavernously so, leading up to cobweb-filled rafters. Through caked layers of dust and spiderweb hung rusty copper chains with wires threaded through them, oversized light bulbs hanging limply from the ends as if long-forgotten, emitting a surprisingly flattering bright yellow light. Not that it usually did much by way of helping the regulars to look any more appealing. 

Greasy, deep-red leather booths sat either side of heavy oak tables, above which hung licence plates from all 50 states. Willy had once won a midnight blue ’65 Mustang Fastback in a game of cards and had found them stashed in the trunk. He had secreted them beneath the bar for some time, suspicious that they had been planted there to frame him for some wrongdoing or another, but eventually, when no such time came, he had finally unearthed his prizes and put them on display.

A long, high table was surrounded with red pleather bar stools, which had not yet been tidied away for mopping. The pinball machine had seen better days, a large crack working its way across the glass which protected the playing surface. One of the legs was badly dented. Without touching them, one got the impression that the shiny red buttons would be sticky to touch. A small row of lightbulbs blinked feebly, chasing each other around the perimeter of the scoreboard which declared R.U.E the highest scoring player.

Glancing around, Spike snorted quietly, noticing for the first time the melted white candles which sat atop each table in small black saucers, now extinguished for the night. He thought the odds of making this dump feel in any way romantic were slim-to-fucking-none, at best. 

What Willy lacked in interior design talent, he made up for in style. The short, stocky bartender wore a red ‘50s-style bowling shirt open over a white wifebeater. The pleated grey slacks, into which his tank top was tucked, were held up by brown suspenders, which peeked out from under his shirt. His short black hair was greased back into a small, shapely quiff. He stood behind the bar with a rag clutched limply in his hand, forgotten, taking a deep breath before addressing his visitors.

“Why am I not surprised to see you two?” He cocked his head towards Buffy, “Well, a little more surprised to see you on account of you dying and all but stranger things have happened. And anyway, I heard a rumour from a Frophla that the dark witch brought you back to life, is it true?”

“What do you think, genius?” said Spike disdainfully, gesturing at Buffy, “She’s standing here in front of you and… shhh” he raised a hand in front of Buffy’s mouth, waiting in silence for a second before drawing back again, “Yep, just as I suspected, she’s breathing. Why don’t you take a wild bleedin’ guess.”

“OK wise guy, I was just making conversation but if the cosy chat’s over, I’ll get right to the point. We’re closed.”

“You’re closed when I say you’re closed,” spat Spike, “and believe me, you really don’t wanna argue with me tonight. I might not be able to harm you bleedin’ humans, no matter how rotten you are, but my girl here can.” Buffy smiled. “I’ve got a few people on my naughty list whose heads I’ve been meaning to rip off, and in the absence of any of them being within my reach, well.” Taking his cue, Buffy reached over the bar, grabbing Willy’s head between two hands and yanking it upward, forcing the bartender on to his tiptoes. 

Spike continued smoothly, “I probably wouldn’t push your luck, if I were you.” Willy grimaced as he tried to remain on his toes to avoid the incredible pain of Buffy’s vice-like grip getting any worse. “Right,” he directed at Spike, “got it. Not pushing my luck.” 

“That’s more like it,” growled Spike, nodding at Buffy who released his head roughly, sending Willy reeling backwards, rubbing his neck and scowling. He was surprised at the slayer carrying out the instructions of the vampire. She’d come in here to give him a hard time more often than he could count but she usually went the gentle route, a strongly worded threat or perhaps a punch on the nose on a bad day. “What do you wanna know?”

“We need to know everything you’ve heard about Willow or Rack in the last few days,” said Buffy, thinking it best to get straight to the point.

“Oh, so you already know those two have buddied up? Heard they’re real friendly these days. Rack’s place has been on lockdown since this one got caught snooping.” He waved a hand in Spike’s general direction but didn’t dare to make eye contact, “Anyway, rumour is those two are planning something big together. Rack won’t even give his regulars their daily dose no more. The other magic dealers are having a field day.”

“How’d you find out that she’d turned dark?” asked Buffy, who was beginning to think she was the last to know.

“Oh, that one’s been going that way for months now. Ever since she took on the Beast. I heard rumblings that one of the slayer’s gang had been practising magic most evil in the woods at night. Rumour has it a couple of demons stumbled upon her one night and she had damn near cleared half the trees practising spells.” He finished with a satisfied nod, folding his arms to indicate that story time was over.

“You know what Buffy,” began Spike in a low, menacing tone, “I think our friend Willy here has been a little too forthcoming with these details.” Willy’s eyes darted towards the exit. Buffy noticed, walking towards the hatch on the bar and blocking his escape route. He gave a small, resigned sigh.

Spike nodded in approval and continued, “I think he’s running his mouth so we think he’s been co-operating with us but old Spikey knows better. I think,” he drawled, walking over to Buffy and lifting the hatch to allow her through. She slipped behind the bar, roughly grabbing Willy by the shoulders and tossing him over it. Spike watched with satisfaction as he landed with a thud against a panelled wall, whereupon a Hawaiian licence plate promptly landed on his head, “We’d better ramp it up a notch and see if we can help him refresh his memory.”

Buffy was surprised to find she was enjoying herself. She wasn’t usually one for taking orders but with Spike, it felt more like they were working as a single unit. They made a slick team. She felt no guilt hurting Willy; this was urgent business and he wasn’t exactly a good guy. Spike retrieved the cattle prod from his duster and tossed it lightly over to Buffy who caught it in one hand. He’d been keeping it on his person ever since discovering it was a useful anti-Willow tool.

Buffy turned the dial so it was at its lowest level. They didn’t want to render the guy unconscious before he could sing. Willy, however, did not need to know this. “This as high as it goes, honey?” she said to Spike, sweetly flashing it to show him with a wink.

“You’re a bad, bad girl,” said Spike, shaking his head in sarcastic lament. Willy’s eyes widened as he shrank back towards the wall. Buffy pressed the button, charging the prod before jabbing it lightly at the bartender’s bare arm, where it connected with a crack. He yowled in pain. 

“Ready for another?” she asked. 

“No!” He yelled quickly from his hunched position on the unvarnished wooden floor.

“Better talk quick then,” said Spike, “We’ve got places to be.”

***

Ten minutes later, the pair were striding through the sewers in comfortable silence. Neither had anything to say about what Willy had told them. They were hoping Giles would make sense of it for them. It hadn’t taken long for the bartender to crack and Spike had told him as they left, in a tone of derision, “I can always count on you to nark. Once a grass, always a grass.” 

The vampire halted when they reached the ladder closest to 1630, pulling Buffy close for a long, comforting cuddle. She wound her arms tightly around his middle, beneath his duster, an action that was starting to feel comforting and familiar. She had used the word “boyfriend” to describe him earlier, seen happiness dance briefly in his eyes before he had replaced it with a more Spike-appropriate expression. She had found it thoroughly endearing. 

Eventually they broke apart, Spike grabbing a thick blanket he’d asked Tara to drop into the tunnel for their return, tossing it round his shoulders and following Buffy up the ladder. Once at the top, he threw it over his head and together they ran for the door, the makeshift cloak smouldering slightly in the early morning sun.

***


	15. Chapter 15 Showtime

“The sickle of Astaroth. Good heavens. It hasn’t been seen for centuries.” Giles had been repeating variations of this phrase since Buffy and Spike had returned with Willy’s intel.

The bleary-eyed group had gathered around the dining table to hear their news, none of them having slept particularly well the previous night. Several mugs of undrunk coffee were dotted around the room. Every once in a while, someone would grab a piece of toast from the pile Tara had buttered and take a bite before leaving it on their plate, forgotten. Xander, who had actually finished his own mug and was now on his fourth piece of toast, spoke his next words with his mouth full, distributing a fine spray of crumbs on the table in front of him, “Sho what dush thish shickle thing do emmyway?” Dawn wrinkled her nose as Giles averted his eyes from the appalling display. 

Anya translated, “He said, ‘So what does this sickle thing do, anyway?’” Xander, realising his faux pas, bared his teeth, grinning at his comrades apologetically with cheeks full of partially chewed breakfast. Anya shook her head fondly at her fiancé.

Giles had been thumbing through a copy of “Ancient Demon Lore”. He read aloud, “Legend has it that Astaroth, also known as the Great Duke, was once hell’s treasurer, using his sickle to drain powers from supernatural beings who entered the realm. He was also known to bestow gifts of powers upon those he favoured.” 

Giles finished reading from the book, turning to face the group once more as he elaborated, “The sickle was rumoured to be the source of Astaroth’s ability to steal and transfer powers. Of course, the bearer of such an item could hypothetically possess infinite powers. The most recently documented owner was a good warlock by the name of Hagen, who spent his youth hunting it down in order to keep the world protected from its devastating potential. Rumour has it, Hagen stole just enough powers using the sickle to allow him to protect it while he was alive. After that, the trail goes cold. Most assumed that Hagen had successfully hidden or destroyed it before his death. Nobody has written of it in living memory, certainly.”

“Until now,” said Buffy, solemnly.

“Yes, quite,” the watcher agreed, going quiet as he digested his own words and felt the gravity of them. His voice lightened as he added, “It’s lucky you managed to learn of it when you did. The story goes that the sickle bears an allegiance to its previous owner. The new bearer, Willow, will have to train with it until she can earn its allegiance and truly wield its powers.”

“Which is where Rack comes in, no doubt,” Spike finished, “Nice little academy for the half-breed witch.”

The group fell silent, considering the magnitude of the situation.

“Good thing we called in the cavalry,” Buffy said at last, to Spike.

“Yeah, too bloody right. Let’s just hope he’s in the mood to reprise his old role as Angelus.”

Buffy nodded back at him as Dawn exclaimed, “Angel’s coming?” in total disbelief. Giles bobbed his head slightly by way of approval at Angel’s invitation before returning to his reading. “But what about…?” Xander pointed his thumb in Spike’s direction conspiratorially.

“Well,” said Buffy wryly, “we were kinda hoping Angel might be good enough to look past my choice in vampires long enough to help us stop Will.”

“Bloody least he could do, I reckon,” said Spike, who was secretly thrilled at the prospect of seeing the look on Angel’s face when he found out about them.

“Yes,” said Giles distractedly, poring over the pages of his book, “We’re expecting him soon, I hope?”

“Should be here early this afternoon,” said Buffy, “Just enough time for us to start on the plan.”

***

When Angel arrived, Buffy relieved him of his sun-cloak, which had started to burn in the midday heat and had to be held under the cold faucet until steam which smelled of melted plastic and birthday candles had started to rise from it. He was already on the allowed list for the house’s protection spells and crossed the threshold without difficulty. The others waited in the kitchen and living room, ironing out the last of their plan as Buffy took Angel to the basement to break the news gently.

She had started by telling him the full story. Willow, Rack, the demon, Willy’s Place and the sickle were all much more straightforward to explain, and Angel listened in earnest concentration as she gave him as many details as she could think of.

Buffy came to the end of her tale and several uncomfortable moments of silence passed before Angel prompted, “And?”

“And what?” she asked casually.

“There’s something else, something you don’t want to tell me.” He wasn’t asking.

“That obvious, huh?”

“Well, everyone looked pretty freaked out when they saw me and last time I checked, I don’t usually have that effect on the Scoobies.”

“Oh.”

“That and we’re in the basement.”

“Excellent observational skills, see, I knew we needed you on our team!” she stalled.

“Buffy,” Angel said gently, “I’m guessing we don’t really have time to waste down here.”

“No, I guess not. Angel, I’m going to tell you something and you’re not going to understand it and that’s OK. I didn’t really understand it myself but you see, I don’t really think that matters. Everything was so … you know? And now it’s all … and I’ve found someone that is making it all feel so much more …” she tailed off again and Angel’s face softened as he smiled in understanding.

“You’ve got a boyfriend,” he said, “Buffy, it’s OK. You’ve had boyfriends before, it’s not like I ever expected you to stay single forev ---”

“It’s Spike,” she interrupted, cutting off his good-guy speech before he got too far in.

“What’s Spike?”

“My boyfriend is Spike.”

Angel gaped at her, taking a step back to sit on the low cot. “Spike.” He repeated.

“Yeah. I don’t need you to get it, I just need you to accept it.”

“Spike?!” Angel yelled, loud enough that Buffy was sure everyone upstairs could hear. She imagined Spike’s smug reaction and couldn’t stop a smile creeping across her own face.

“Look Angel, I know. Trust me, I know. Xander and Giles are totally freaked too. This isn’t how I would choose to tell you. Actually, I might have preferred to tell you never, but I figured if I was gonna ask you to come here, the least I could do is be honest about it.”

“You know what, let’s not talk about this now,” said Angel, looking restless and tense, tapping the fingers of his right hand distractedly on his thigh.

“If that’s what you want.”

“What I want …” he stopped himself on the verge of saying something he might later regret and instead finished, “Right.”

“I know it’s a lot. I don’t need you to like it but Angel, I don’t want to lose your friendship over this.” She looked at him sincerely, willing him to understand.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he responded seriously, “That’s all can do right now.”

Buffy nodded at him; she understood. He was telling her that he would try to get on board. “Shall we go and talk business?” she suggested.

“Oh, thank God,” said Angel, managing a brief smile as he made for the stairs.

***

Up in the living room, Buffy threw Spike a warning look that she hoped conveyed the message, “play nice,” before settling on the armrest of the chair he was sat on. She knew it was not the kindest position to have chosen, for Angel’s sake, but felt she owed it to the younger vampire to make sure he didn’t feel threatened by Angel’s presence either. She wondered if boy problems ever got less complicated. She thought about Spike and Drusilla’s centuries-long tumultuous relationship and guessed that they probably didn’t.

***

A few hours had passed and in the intensity of the planning, Buffy had noticed the cold looks being thrown from Angel to Spike had dwindled significantly. She hoped that being united in a common cause would keep the tensions at bay. They had decided that the best course of action would be for Angel to pose as Angelus, using the notoriety of his former self to gain entry to Rack’s, where Willow was holed up training. They figured it was the best way to get close to Willow before she managed to harness the full powers of the sickle. Giles had assured them it might take a few days before Willow mastered the dark object, but they were keen to get on with it. 

They had decided it was more believable if instead of Angelus turning up at Rack’s unannounced looking for a front row seat to the event, they waited for the evil to come to them directly. “We need to set the bait,” Spike had said cheerfully, “if we’re gonna catch us a couple of fishies.”

***

The gang set about making preparations. Anya got in touch with an old friend who owed her a favour, who agreed to help with the first part of the plan that night. Buffy and Angel got to planning the grand finale for later that evening. They decided it was best if Angelus had an accomplice. “Evil tends to attract groupies,” Spike had explained. 

Once he was done with Buffy, Angel had gone to Spike’s crypt to distance himself from the others. There was no use setting an elaborate plan in action only for Sunnydale’s locals to discover he had been cosying up with the enemy. They had decided Angel would throw a bunch of Spike’s clothes around outside to make it look like he had been unceremoniously evicted in case anyone came snooping. Angel was more than willing to take out some small act of revenge on Spike’s belongings. 

***

Later that night, Anya kissed her fiancé goodbye, leaving the others waiting anxiously as she went to meet Angel for phase 1 of the plan. Being an ex-vengeance demon, she had been voted most-likely-to-return-to-the-dark-side by the Scoobies and had been quite touched to know they still thought she had it in her. 

Sat with Angel in Spike’s crypt, waiting for her friend to arrive, a thought crossed her mind. “If you and Buffy had got married, would that have made her Spike’s step-grandsire?” Angel frowned and she continued, “Guess it’s a good thing you didn’t. They make a cute couple, don’t you think?”

“Can we talk about something else?” asked Angel uncomfortably. He was starting to regret having her as his partner in crime for the evening.

“Right,” agreed Anya, thinking “ _Just like I said, miserable.”_ “She’ll be here in a moment anyway.” 

‘She’ was Halfrek, Anya’s best friend from her vengeance days, who, right on cue, popped into the living room from nowhere with a small ‘crack’ and a flourish of her arms. “Anyanka!” she gushed, beckoning her friend into her open arms whereupon she bestowed an exaggerated kiss on each of Anya’s cheeks. “Hallie!” Anya beamed back.

Halfrek turned to Angel, “And Angel,” she winked knowingly at him then, “Or should I say, Angelus?” Anya couldn’t think of a better demon for the task. Hallie was a renowned gossip with a taste for the dramatic. Her pleasure at being brought in on the Big Plan was obvious, eyes glittering with mischief and excitement as they gave her the brief.

***

Leaving Angel and Anya in the wings, down a manhole near Willy’s, Halfrek straightened the hem of her acid green tightly-fitted pencil dress as she wiggled happily off towards the entrance. She cut a striking figure, six feet tall in her dagger-sharp stilettos with a glittering black clutch clamped under one arm. “ _Showtime_!” she thought happily. 

Her tight brown curls bounced around her shoulders as she strutted through the door, taking a seat at the bar and ordering a double martini as several pairs of eyes watched her every move. She had everyone in there right where she wanted them and she knew it. If Hallie had a special skill other than enacting cruel and unusual vengeance on badly behaved parents, it was dressing for the occasion, and tonight she had dressed to kill.

Twenty minutes later and several double martinis discarded into the spill tray when no-one was looking, Halfrek’s famous loose lips were in action. She was telling everyone who would listen about the latest Sunnydale scandal. That dorky human who hung around with the slayer, “Alexander-something?” had been caught cheating on his ex-demon fiancée. 

“I hope it isn’t true,” she was saying, hiccupping realistically as her eyes glimmered with the thrill of the scandal, “but rumour has it Anyanka got her vengeance card reinstated and now she’s a demon again.” This news alone had garnered some small ripples of excitement. Anya’s penchant for enacting particularly creative revenge schemes was renowned. 

Halfrek waited a reasonable amount of time before delivering her front-page headline. Fake-tipsy had turned to fake-drunk, had turned to fake-blotto and she was now sitting at the bar, letting a single tear roll down her cheek. She was nothing if not masterful. She blew her nose into a napkin as Willy handed her another double martini. 

“On the house,” he said, “penny for your thoughts?” Willy’s luck had really taken a turn up for the books this evening. This stunning demon brunette had been gossiping away all night, racking up an enormous bar tab. To his delight, the other patrons seemed to be ordering extra in an effort to keep the pace. He was making a killing.

“Oh,” said Hallie glancing up at him from her napkin, “I couldn’t possibly. It’s too terrible and besides,” she whispered, “nobody can know he’s here.”

“Who’s here?” said Willy, interest well and truly piqued.

“If I tell you, you promise you won’t tell a soul?”

“On my honour,” Willy said earnestly. “ _And we all know what that’s worth_ ,” thought Hallie, leaning over the bar for the big finish.

“I don’t know if you know,” she whispered, knowing full well that she’d said it within his ear shot several times tonight, “but my dear friend Anyanka has recently returned to her old career as a vengeance demon.” Willy nodded quickly, hungry for the scoop. 

“Well, I’m hoping it’s not true because if it is, I feel just terribly for Anya. She must be hurting so badly to have done something like this … but,” she sniffed loudly, “she wanted to make her entrance back into the job with a bang, you know? I heard she went to LA and found,” she looked around then, as if to ensure nobody was listening before she dropped the bomb. “Angelus.”

Willy’s eyes might have popped out of his head if they had opened a millimetre wider. “Angelus is back?” he said, loudly enough to draw urgent whisperings from a couple of elderly demons propping up the bar.

“I’ve said too much!” gasped Hallie, thrusting a handful of tens towards Willy and raising a hand to pull an imaginary zip across her lips before making a hasty exit. Once outside, she stamped her heel on the manhole cover a couple of times by way of a signal. She smiled in the knowledge of a job well done, raising her arms in a triumphant flourish like a matador in a bull ring and vanishing.

***


	16. Chapter 16 Miss Me?

Anya and Angel had spent what felt like a lifetime waiting for Hallie’s cue. Mostly because Anya couldn’t seem to stop herself talking about Spike and Buffy. She had never been Angel’s greatest fan, Riley’s even less so. She was team Spuffy all the way and while she dropped what she thought were subtle, helpful hints about how good they were for each other, from Angel’s perspective, the hints were about as subtle as a Cadillac crashing through his living room wall with “WE HEART SPIKE AND BUFFY” scrawled across the windshield. He decided this would be a perfect time to go method, saving up his irritation at ‘The Anya Monologues’ to channel into his upcoming stint as Angelus.

On hearing the excited tap of Hallie’s stiletto ringing tinnily through the sewers, the two ascended the ladder, ready to make their debut as a fake couple. They took a couple of steps into the street before doubling back towards Willy’s, making sure they were seen by the occupants of a ’59 DeSoto Fireflite before heading inside.

As Angelus was hardly the type to make social calls, they planned to keep their visit brief and purposeful. Anya, who looked a million dollars in tight black jeans, a red halter and knee-high boots, walked a step behind Angel as they headed in. Angel wore a simple black coat, black trousers, black leather lace up brogues and a white shirt. Anya thought he looked stuffy and boring, if undeniably handsome. He had adopted the dark scowl of his former iteration, which was the only part of him Anya found vaguely appealing. 

The reaction from the patrons at the arrival of Angelus and his new girlfriend was intense to say the least. If the room was an airplane, Angelus’ arrival shattered the windows, sucking all the atmosphere from it in an instant. The only remaining sound was the heavy metal blasting from the jukebox. “What’s everyone looking at?” Angel asked Anya in a loud, deep voice tinged with amusement. Several customers took this as a hint to mind their own business, some moving clear out of the way and others trying and failing to keep watching discreetly. 

Angel reached a hand backwards, tugging Anya towards him and throwing a protective arm around her shoulder, slipping into game face and growling at a nearby demon who scuttled away. He switched back to human form as he released Anya, walking towards Willy who was staring at him, transfixed.

“Angelus, my main man! Long time no see. What brings you to town?” he asked in a slimy, cloying voice. Angel ignored him, lifting the hatch to walk behind the bar. He pushed roughly past a stunned Willy, grabbing a glass from under the till, pouring a double measure of whiskey and handing it to Anya who winked as she accepted it. “Angelus honey, there’s no ice.” She said with a pout and Angel turned to Willy expectantly. The bartender scrambled to scoop some ice up, tipping it into the drink which Anya was holding out with a bored look on her face. 

Angel grabbed the front of Willy’s black wifebeater in a tight fist with a sudden flash of movement, speaking in a quiet, silky voice which even Willy had to strain to hear, “I paid a visit to my grandchild today. Turns out he’s been eating my leftovers,” he snarled, “I want to know where she is.”

“Who, the witch?” asked Willy quickly, keen to get this ordeal over. He’d had quite enough excitement for one week. Angel snapped back into game face with an irritated snarl, “No, idiot. Buffy. I was gonna send a postcard to let her know I’m back in town but after bumping into dear Spike today, I think I’ll pay her a personal visit instead.” 

He grabbed Willy by the fabric of his shirt, pulling him towards the open hatch. He yanked his arm up roughly by the wrist, shoving it onto the oak surface palm-down so that Willy’s fingertips were just shy of the edge where the hatch joined to meet the bar. He raised his free hand to hover behind the open hatch, which was resting against the wall. “Hold still,” he said mockingly, swatting the heavy wood panel casually so it slammed down with a deafening bang, missing his victim’s fingers by a hair’s breadth. 

Willy blanched, eyes wide in panic. He trembled as Spike lifted the hatch once more. Every eye in the room was watching Angelus’ little torture session unfold, mesmerised. He twitched his hand then, edging Willy’s fingers ever so slightly closer towards the edge of the bar with a dark smile. Even Anya, who knew it was a ruse, was spellbound and horrified at the display.

“I don’t know where she is,” begged Willy, desperately, “you have to believe me. She was in here yesterday with Spike but --"

At that moment, the door crashed open. The sound of the hatch banging shut had been Spike and Buffy’s cue to join the fray. Buffy, closely followed by Spike, barged into the room.

“Looking for someone?” 

***

The rest of their movements had been carefully choreographed, planned that afternoon. Angel abandoned Willy at the bar, where he immediately poured himself a large measure of brandy and downed it in one gulp to calm his jangling nerves. He closed the hatch, looking at it as if it might bite him, slipping the lock closed as though that would have any effect against Angelus should he choose to return.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” said Angel, turning to Buffy and asking, “Miss me?” Anya had set down her glass and was glaring at the two as demonically as she could manage. Not having actually been turned back into her former demon self, she couldn’t change into game face like Angel, but the overall effect of their little performance at the bar had given everyone watching the impression she was as bad as they came.

“I’ve been thinking,” Spike cut in, “And I reckon I don’t much like being chucked out of my crypt. I’ve decided I’m moving back in.”

“Is that right?” Angel replied snidely.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Buffy in a warning tone, leaping towards him with a flying kick to the chest before turning to follow Spike who had led the way out of the entrance. They were hoping to draw an audience outside to watch the next stunt they had planned, which would put the word about that Angelus was well and truly back to his evil old self.

Angel jumped up easily from the kick. The gentlest Buffy could manage believably was still enough to take down a small football team but he’d felt worse. Like, for example, being told earlier that day that the ex-love of his life was now dating his most annoying family member.

Angel and Anya followed Spike and Buffy out of the bar at a run, a crowd spilling out behind them, keeping their distance from Angelus but not willing to miss a second of this unexpected live entertainment.

The foursome exchanged a flurry of pre-planned blows. Spike was fighting Angel as his chip would fire if he tried to hit Anya, giving the game away. Buffy had known it was not ideal for the pair to stage a battle on today of all days, and as she pushed Anya to the ground for a second time, she saw Spike reeling backwards out of the corner of her eye, winded by a punch that was several times harder than the staged variety. The action was short-lived. They didn’t want any of the onlookers to catch on that they weren’t playing at full capacity. Buffy grabbed Spike by the arm, running from Angel, Anya and the hungry crowd, and yelling, “This isn’t over,” as they jumped into Spike’s DeSoto and sped off round a corner.

Angel smiled at Anya. “Let’s go after them!” she exclaimed, loud enough for the spectators to hear. “No,” he replied coolly, “the fun’s just getting started.” He laughed then, sounding as thoroughly villainous as the real Angelus ever had. He kicked the manhole cover aside and the pair descended the way they came as the crowd behind them erupted into gossip.

***

Angel and Anya had been back at Spike’s for less than an hour before hearing a knock at the door. Anya watched as Angel opened it, growling “What do you want?” at whoever it was.

“Rack sent me,” came the simple reply and Angel opened it wider, letting the visitor in. A tall, slim black woman stepped elegantly over the threshold. She wore a tight red tartan halter top, cropped to display two lines of toned muscle which framed her pierced belly button, from which hung a large, dangly silver charm shaped like the sun. 

Her long hair was in thick box braids, pulled into a bun on top of her head. Some of the braids were adorned with gold and silver beads which mirrored the mixed metal hoops along the curve of her ears. Her lobes remained remarkably unpierced, the last untouched piece of skin. She wore chunky black trainers and white sports socks which ended halfway up her shins.

Angel adopted his menacing tone, “And what business does Rack have with me?” He paced close behind her in a semi-circle as he spoke. She remained outwardly calm but Anya noted she stood still as a statue, on guard for whatever nasty trick Angelus might play. She spoke in a deep, measured voice, “He wanted me to tell you that he has a little plan that might interest you.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, sounding bored, “I don’t play other people’s games.”

“He has the redhead.” She said simply, speaking quickly to keep his interest. “She’s half-demon now, full demon soon enough if all goes to plan. They’ve located the sickle of Astaroth. They’re going to collect it tomorrow night so Red can master it and kill the slayer.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Angel casually. “When and where?” Anya sat on the sofa listening intently, keeping an uninterested expression on her face as she rested her feet on Spike’s coffee table and held the remote, flicking through the muted channels. She was relieved to hear that Willow didn’t yet have the sickle in her hands. Trust Rack and his cronies to embellish the truth.

“Bishop’s Castle tomorrow at midnight. Do you know it?”

Angel nodded, opening the door to let her know the discussion was over. As she walked towards it, he grabbed her by the arm with his left hand as he drew a dagger with a flash of silver with his right, bringing it to rest under her chin. She froze. “And you tell your boss,” he growled, brow bone shifting slowly forwards as his demon took over, “that this had better be worth my time.” He drew the dagger back in a smooth motion then, shoving her unceremoniously out of the door with a palm in the small of her bare back. 

Changing back to his human form, he slammed it behind her, sweeping over to the phone to fill the others in.

***

Driving back to Revello, Spike had been amused by Buffy, who had her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Cheer up, luv,” he said, “it’s only for one night.”

“Ugh, I just hate to think they’re all at Willy’s now thinking I'm the type of Slayer to run away from a fight.”

“Let’s put it this way, pet,” as they pulled to a stop on the driveway, he turned to face her, “I happen to know from personal experience that you are a highly formidable enemy.” He kissed her passionately then, cheering her up considerably.

They went inside to share the success of the first phase with the others. Once Angel had called, they had even more cause to celebrate. They would all sleep more soundly tonight knowing that the sickle had not yet been retrieved. Spike and Buffy set up camp on a makeshift bed on the floor of the living room, Buffy tracing letters on the cool skin of Spike’s muscular back as he drifted off to sleep.

***


	17. Chapter 17 Bishop's Castle

Late the next evening, any demon venturing into the sewers would have come upon a motley crew indeed. Leading the group were Spike and Buffy, the former in his standard issue Big Bad uniform, accessorised with a hickey on the left side of his neck. Luckily, he couldn’t see his own reflection and as such, had believed Buffy when she told him she hadn’t left a mark. “Good,” he’d said, “I’m not a sodding teenager.” 

Buffy was wearing bright white trainers and tight black trousers. Over them she wore a black vest top, underneath which the straps of a pale blue bra were visible. She had on her favourite blue leather jacket, now free of the ooze from the demon fight a few days ago.

Giles looked like a museum tour guide in his trademark tweed and a green cagoule. He stood at the back with Tara, who wore deep red bootcut trousers and an oversized plum hoodie. It was less witchy than her usual attire, but having been compelled to wear a lot of Willow’s favourite outfits under the fugue, she was selecting clothes as far in the other direction as possible to try and regain control. She looked good.

Dawn looked like Buffy’s mini-me in an almost identical outfit, with a denim jacket in place of the leather one, and Xander was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and jeans under a black corduroy jacket. The pattern of the shirt was reminiscent of the upholstery from a seaside resort with bed bugs.

They had spent most of the day at the house either researching, preparing weapons or on the phone to Angel and Anya, though Buffy and Spike had managed to sneak off on made-up errands alone together more than once. The second time he had walked into a room to find the couple making out, Xander had become suspicious that it was some sort of exposure therapy designed to get him used to the idea of them as a couple.

When they reached the lower level of Spike’s crypt, they found that Anya and Angel had arranged some chairs for them. They thought it best to stay downstairs in case any visitors showed up to see Angelus. Xander made a beeline for Anya the second she came down the ladder to meet them, dipping her back into a kiss in a very suave manner and impressing even himself. Anya, who had been feeling incredibly sexy ever since last night’s cameo as the demon it-girl, was thrilled to receive such an enthusiastic hello. Dawn thought it was super-romantic.

The gang had decided that Giles, Dawn and Tara would remain at Spike’s while the others went off to Bishop’s Castle for midnight. Ever since the Glory happenings, Dawn’s incessant desire to get involved in her sister’s adventures had dwindled, much to Buffy’s relief. Tara wasn’t sure she could face Willow yet. There were a lot of messy emotions that didn’t need to be added to the current pickle they were in. Willow had royally betrayed her and messed everything up but love didn’t disappear overnight. Buffy had plenty of experience in such matters, having known the immense pain of Angel transforming into Angelus overnight. 

Giles and Tara were planning to prepare the spell which would separate Willow from the demon. The others were hoping to kidnap Willow and bring her back to Spike’s. The vampire had dug up some extra sets of shackles to replace those broken by Willow. Xander thought this was a pretty big red flag but kept his unpopular opinion to himself as apparently all the girls had drunk crazy juice and now thought Spike and Buffy were the most romantic pairing of all time. “ _Fickle, fickle creatures. How quickly they forget_ ,” he thought. He was forgetting himself, of course, that he had once found Anya to be clingy and unlikeable and was now head over heels in love with her.

They had decided to keep up the charade of Angelus and Anya’s love affair. It was unlikely anyone would be foolish enough to try and argue with Angelus bringing a plus one to an event he’d had a VIP invite to. 

“But what about us three?” Xander asked, “How are we gonna get into a castle unseen?”

“What castle?” asked Angel, curiously.

“Bishop’s Castle,” Xander replied. He wondered if Angel was losing his touch.

“Bishop’s Castle isn’t a castle,” said Spike and Angel as one, Spike grinning at their twin speak and Angel looking mildly disgruntled.

“Of course it’s not,” came Xander’s sarcastic reply, “why would it be?”

“What is it then?” asked Buffy.

“It’s a farm, luv,” Spike explained.

Angel continued, Buffy noting the ease with which the two told a story together and thinking neither of them would thank her for pointing it out, “There was a monastery there once upon a time, hence Bishop’s Castle, but it fell in an earthquake and was never rebuilt.”

“Eventually some old geezer built a farm on it, but legend has it the whole place was crawling with the ghosts of monks. Turns out the evil abbot had been recruiting local orphans to join the ministry and a lot of them met a grisly end.” 

“The farmer abandoned it and it’s remained empty ever since. Whether or not the rumours were true, nobody ever tried to sell the place and no-one else ever took an interest in it.”

“I’ve heard rumours of our lot holing up in there for a bit from time to time but they never stay long. Must be full of spooky ghosties.” Spike had been standing behind Buffy’s camping chair while he told the story and at the last sentence, he grabbed her shoulders lightly, making her jump and yelp. He chuckled, “Couldn’t resist.” Buffy turned towards him and stuck her tongue out. Angel wasn’t quite sure what to make of this little interaction. Buffy looked very at ease with his grandchild. 

He carried on. “I think Willow will see right through it if we try to bring you in as hostages. It’s too neat. Better off if you just storm the place when we give a signal. It’s unlikely Rack will want too many cronies on the scene. He’s got no problem letting everyone know the sickle’s in his sights but he’d be a fool to give the location away. Shouldn’t be too hard for you to get close to us without being detected, Rack’s gonna have plenty on his mind.”

“How do we know Rack isn’t going to double cross Will to get the sickle for himself?” Xander asked.

“It’s a good point,” said Angel, causing Xander to look very pleased with himself, “But I doubt it. Rack has a pretty sweet set up already. He’s a puppet master, he likes to watch the world burn but he’s never the one holding the match. No, I think he wants the reflected glory of being the warlock that created such a powerful witch … demon … demon-witch.” He looked a little puzzled by this terminology, “Press like that is good for business.”

“I’ve never seen a demon and a witch mixed together before,” said Anya with a tone of mild interest.

“Yes, it does happen,” said Giles, “But not very often. Parasitic demons are quite rare and the ones we’ve encountered before tend to select weak victims. What makes the resurrection demon so special is its willingness to take on a host with a great power and vie for the top spot from within.”

“And they can’t just decide to share?” asked Dawn, innocently.

“No!” said Buffy, as if it were obvious.

“Well, yes, actually,” Giles corrected, “It has been known to happen but it’s highly unlikely.” Dawn stuck her tongue out at Buffy behind Giles’ back. “Both the demon and Willow would have to agree it was beneficial and –”

“Baddies don’t tend to like playing nice,” Spike finished, much to Giles’ annoyance.

“Yes.” Giles added curtly.

The group broke apart. Tara and Giles were going to attempt an enchantment on some shackles which would make them more suitable for holding Willow, if the others managed to make it back with her. There was a grave and unspoken understanding that if they couldn’t bring Will back in one piece, they would do what they had to do, but nobody wanted to think about that.

The others set about loading up with the weapons they had brought from Buffy’s, and a few from Spike’s personal collection. Buffy, knowing better than to risk her favourite jacket a second time, changed into all black, unwittingly dressing in an outfit that matched Spike’s, minus the duster.

***

At a quarter to midnight, the gang set off. Angel had stolen a shiny red truck from the edge of town. It wouldn’t do for him to turn up in legally acquired wheels, it just wasn’t Angelus’ style. He would give it back tomorrow. Anya and Angel sat up front, Anya in a tight red mini dress which had made Xander exclaim, “Sweet mother Mary.” They thought it would less threatening if Anya showed up dressed more for date night than a grand ceremony. She’d chosen flats, as she thought tonight’s running was likely to be less of the staged and more of the oh-holy-shit-here-they-come, variety. 

Laying low in the flatbed as Angel drove slowly out of town, Xander noticed Spike inspecting Buffy’s tight pants and told them to, “Cut it out! Gross!” They giggled but complied. The decision to arrive late had been Angel’s. Angelus wasn’t one for keeping to others’ schedules, and besides, it was easier for them to case the joint if the others were already inside when they got there. They were expecting to see Rack, the demon Willow and perhaps the woman from last night, who Angel was calling Sunshine, after the bellybutton jewellery she had worn.

The lamplit streets of Sunnydale had been replaced by the higher, more infrequent lighting of the outskirts, and then nothing at all but vast, velvet sky expanding out. Full moon was a couple of days away and as Buffy lay on her back next to Xander and Spike, being driven along by her ex-boyfriend, she thought in different circumstances this might have made a romantic date. Spike, who had clearly had the same thought, squeezed her hand tight, leaning in to give her a soft, gentle kiss. Xander let that one slide. He was busy thinking about how hot Anya was looking tonight. 

The journey, which had felt quite smooth for the three in the flatbed thus far, became gradually bumpier and more winding as they drove across what felt like a rocky dirt track. It soon gave way to gravel and the truck crunched slowly to a halt. It had been decided beforehand that it would be far too risky for Angel and Anya to try and communicate any information to the others once they arrived, but as the truck doors opened and shut, Angel slammed a hand twice on the roof of the driver’s side, which meant, “Yes, they’re already here.” Good news. They listened in silence as Anya and Angel’s footsteps got quieter and quieter, followed by a loud creak of what Buffy guessed was a barn door.

***

They waited a few minutes before they moved, Buffy sliding herself ever so cautiously towards the edge of the flatbed, which was pretty cold by now. She raised her head inch by inch until she could peek over the top, looking around. She lowered herself back down, repeating the same movement on the other side. She nodded to the others, thankful for the low light of the moon which was just enough to see by but not so much that they could be easily spotted. 

Spike lifted the catch which lowered the back panel, offering Buffy a hand down. Xander was surprised to see her accepting it easily. She was not usually one to condone such acts of chivalry, but her acceptance didn’t seem to carry the patronising note that it would have done had this been Riley Finn and not Spike … “ _Spike the Vampire?_ ” he thought, realising he didn’t know Spike’s surname. He was only aware of him as William the Bloody but he was pretty sure that wasn’t a family name either.

***

The farmhouse was a medium-sized red brick affair, surrounded by land on all sides. It looked pretty run down, peeling paint, missing red roof tiles and barely any glass left in the windows. The inside of the building looked almost impossibly black. Here and there stood scraggly trees, windswept and gnarled. The gravel to the front of the building gave way to a rotten-fenced paddock on the right and a large barn on the left, almost as large as the house itself. Outside of this were some forgotten pieces of farm equipment. A rusted plough looked like it had been untouched for decades and parked beside it was an even rustier tractor. 

The large doors of the barn were most of the way closed, a small gap remaining through which could be seen a chink of light. Buffy assumed it had been conjured by Rack or Willow, there would be no electricity. Xander and Buffy crept between the pieces of farm equipment and sat tight. Spike, who was planning to do a quick tour of the grounds to see what he could find, stopped first by Buffy, unpinning the safety pin which fastened one of his silver chains. He removed it and stepped behind her, slipping it around her neck and fastening it shut. He kissed her on the top of her head and crept off. Xander, watching, felt quite touched.

***


	18. Chapter 18 Keeping Up Appearances

“It’s been a long time, Angelus my friend.” Rack greeted Angel before nodding respectfully to Anya. Rack was the slimy type and if this were anyone else’s girlfriend, he would probably have offered a handshake and lingered a moment too long with her fingertips clutched in his smooth, dry hands. Creepy though he was, however, he was not stupid, certainly nowhere near stupid enough to try and play with Angelus’ new toy. They never lasted long anyway, he thought to himself. If he wanted to spend some time with the blonde demon, all he had to do was wait until something prettier or more evil came along.

The barn was indeed lit by magical means, six floating yellow orbs of light were suspended high in the ceiling, between the heavy beams which spread from side to side. The whole place reeked of magic, though Angel guessed that had been there long before Rack had arrived. The floor was a tough, hard coating of solid mud. Around the sides of the barn were more items of farm equipment, stored so haphazardly one got the impression they would need to be untangled if they were ever required. The doors through which they had entered were three times the height of a normal door, but thinner, they had juddered open across the rough ground with a series of loud creaks and squeaks, and protested equally loudly when they had been closed.

As they had entered, Angel made an appraisal of their surroundings, assessing the ease with which the others could get in, should they choose a stealthy entrance. There had been little done by way of planning for this, they didn't know what they were going to face and there wasn’t much Angel could do to let them know what was inside. Behind Rack and Willow, in the longer wall, was another, smaller door. The other side of that wall was where Buffy and Xander were currently crouched, waiting for Spike. Rack was stood behind a stone archway which looked massively out of place, clearly a remnant of the old monastery. Angel wondered how it was still standing.

“Impressive, isn’t it,” remarked Rack, directing his comments at Anya rather than at Angel directly, not wanting to come across as patronising. He had no such qualms with ‘the girlfriend’, it would seem. “When the quake claimed the monastery, the foundations crumbled, but this arch didn’t budge an inch. It’s been rumoured to have many great powers over the years. The farm’s owner didn’t think much of it, tried to knock it down every way he could. When he realised there was no getting rid of it, he built this barn to hide it. Didn’t want anyone to know the place was riddled with magic. Only ever used it to store junk,” he gestured towards the farming machinery. “Keeping up appearances, I suppose we all do it. Just look at Red here, she did a mighty fine job of keeping up her spot on the Slayer’s team.”

He gestured then towards the Willow-demon. She was now unrecognisable as Willow in everything other than size and shape. Her hair, now fully black and grown towards her waist, hung in curtains underneath which her eyes could only partially be seen. This was some small mercy as her all-black eyes were matte and dull, not reflecting the magically-cast light but absorbing it entirely. The effect was beyond unsettling, it was truly repulsive. Her face was covered with deep gouges as though she had attempted to crawl out of her own skin, some scabbed and some fresher. Where blood was, there was no red, only black, as though she had turned rotten from the inside out. Her skin was a sickly grey-white, chalky and paper thin, dark capillaries visible underneath.

She wore a simple black dress, shapeless and long, covering her feet. Skinny, pale arms hung straight by her sides, woven with black veins. It was difficult to tell where she was looking, or if she could even see. She stood still but not serene. There was an overwhelming sense that whatever this shell had once contained, therein now lay darkness and death. 

Angel and Anya had a combined age of well over a thousand. Anya had made people’s evil, vengeful wishes become reality. She had often been surprised by the darkness of what people could conjure in their minds when spurred on by the pain of love and loss. As Angelus, Angel had torn families apart, both figuratively and literally, taking enjoyment from creating the most twisted tableaus he could orchestrate to cause lifetimes of trauma and suffering. Both knew evil when they saw it and this, this creature that stood beside Rack, chilled them both to the core.

Rack seemed unphased. “The witch is still in there somewhere you know. Incredible. Clinging on for dear life, aren’t you.” He looked at the demon-Willow when he made this remark and was unbothered by the lack of response, “She’s not much one for talking these days."

“Shame,” said Angel coldly, “She used to be quite pretty. I like my women evil but I’m more the have your cake and eat it type.” He gestured to Anya with a smirk and a jerk of the head, his example of a woman who was both evil and attractive.

Anya was pleased she was not expected to speak. There was so much noise in her head she could barely keep afloat of the conversation passively, let alone join in. A macabre zombie caricature of her fiancé’s best friend stood motionless before her and Anya’s heart ached knowing that sooner or later, Xander would see what she was now seeing. She knew how badly this last week had affected him so far and this creature before her was now beyond fathom. She allowed the concern she was feeling to etch itself on her face in the form of a terrifying scowl, a perfectly acceptable expression in present company.

***

Creeping along the long side of the barn, Spike heard nothing of great concern from within. Rack was of high status in the underworld, Angelus even more so. The formalities of such high-level meetings normally required a lot of bloody boring back and forth before anything juicy happened, something which normally irritated the vampire no end but seemed for once, to be working in his favour.

He trod lightly, grateful for the magical light within, which was bright enough to help him identify cracks and holes in the barn’s exterior. There were one or two places where the planks of wood did not meet fully, but which weren’t easy to see through. The last thing he needed was for someone to spot an eye pressed up flush against the barn. No, it was better to find a breach with a little more room if possible, where they could watch at a few inches’ distance. 

Rounding the corner to the back wall, Spike could have whooped in delight. Jutting out behind the main body of the barn and propped up by heavy wooden columns, was a hayloft. Spike had nested in many such places over the years, for a few nights here and there between haunts. He searched the ceiling above him, the floor of the loft, looking for a way in and eventually his eyes rested on a hatch which had long since rotted away, leaving a person-sized route into the building. The fact that there was only minimal light leaking from the hatch was a brilliant stroke of luck. It meant that there wasn’t a big opening between it and the main body of the barn, meaning if they got up there, they wouldn’t be quickly spotted.

Spike knew that when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was, and he quickly came to realise that there was no accompanying ladder with which to enter the place. On a regular outing, this wouldn’t have presented an issue, but the easy solutions to this problem were too loud. He couldn’t just tug a great sodding rusty piece of farm equipment over to climb on, nor could he risk attempting some insane acrobatics with the slayer and the jester. He hurried silently towards the others, beckoning them out towards the paddock where they could risk talking in a whisper without being heard.

“Found us a nice little route into the barn,” he explained quickly and quietly to the others, who he could only just about see in the dark, “But there isn’t a bastard ladder in sight. Need some quiet way to get up there.” To Spike’s amazement, Xander nodded and held up a finger to indicate that they wait there, slipping off towards the truck and returning with a large coil of blue nylon rope. “Any good?” he asked earnestly.

“Where’d you get that from?” asked Spike, impressed.

“Noticed it in the truck when I was trying not to look at you two getting handsy in the back.” he explained.

“Yet more proof if it were needed, that you’re a bleedin’ lucky charm,” said Spike to Buffy, giving her ass a squeeze.

“Excuse me, who was the one that found the rope?” whispered Xander, appalled.

“Uh guys, great discussion, riveting, truly. But can we keep it focused?” Buffy interjected.

Spike however, had taken Xander’s point, patting him briefly on the shoulder with a “Good work mate,” that was so genuine, Xander could have believed it had been said by a friend.

They snuck back over to the hatch. The vampire set to work on the rope, first running the length between his fingers to gauge the size before cutting smaller lengths off with a knife. He was making a rudimentary rope ladder. Xander, who had instantly started having flash backs of climbing the rope in gym class, was pleased to see Spike working on a more civilised option. The planks which made up the floor of the hayloft were evenly spaced to allow for ventilation of the hay, giving them plenty of space through which to throw the ladder. It only took a couple of attempts. Spike went first to test it, helping the others up after him.

Xander was grateful for his time spent on the construction site. Two years ago, he would have felt dizzy stepping across the gaps between the planks but months spent on scaffolding had left him far more amenable to the task.

The hay that had once been stored up here had long since been fed to its last horse. At one end of the mezzanine was a stack of leather trunks, chests and suitcases, chewed and dusty. At the other lay a collection of rotted railway sleepers, a bird cage and a walnut armoire. On the sleepers rested a spring-bare mattress, thin and tatty, where some squatting vampire had once lain his head no doubt. Once they’d got their bearings, it became apparent where the small offering of light came from. Where the wall to the barn met the loft floor, there was a two-inch gap the whole way along.

Three small nods passed between them and they took it in turns to gently lower themselves onto their bellies, stretched across the intermittent planks, where they could see through to the occupants within.

***


	19. Chapter 19 Long Time No See

“So, Rack, much as I love the chit-chat about your latest demon creation,” Angel waved a dismissive hand towards the Willow-demon, “your groupie said something about the sickle of Astaroth, killing the slayer, yadda yadda yadda. Were you planning on cutting to the good stuff any time soon? Anya here is getting restless, she’s been looking forward to seeing me getting my hands dirty, isn’t that right baby?” Anya pouted and nodded. “When I heard about your little windfall, I couldn’t resist getting a look for myself, but I’m looking and I’m not seeing a whole lot other than a pile of rocks and a rotting demon witch.” Willow-demon hadn’t yet made any indication she was even in the room with them.

“We’ve come here tonight to retrieve it,” Rack explained silkily. Angel, who was beginning to sense that something was amiss, switched into game face, striding towards Rack and standing threateningly close to him, almost chest to chest, although Angel had a couple of inches on the warlock. “Don’t be shy,” he growled, “Let’s take a look.”

By way of answer, Rack pulled a yellowing piece of parchment from the pocket of his brown canvas pants, opening it to show Angel a page of neat calligraphy in blue ink. He snatched it from Rack’s hand. This wasn’t the first time he’d played his evil other half for a good cause, and sometimes it worried Angel how naturally it came to him, playing his own evil twin. He shoved Rack backwards hard with his free hand, “Hey, no crowding,” and pored over the text. He had sensed his grandchild circling the building a few minutes ago, felt him retreat and could now sense that he was somewhere up at the back of the room. He was unsure how much he could see and hear but he was sure to keep his voice up, on the off chance he could relay any information.

“The sickle of Astaroth will present itself to one worthy of its powers, blah blah blah, boring boring boring … pass through the arch.” He threw the paper carelessly behind him where it drifted lazily towards the mud. Rack wanted to pick it up but decided against putting himself at Angel’s feet. He had sensed Angelus’ rising impatience with the situation, not that it had been particularly subtle, and was trying to maintain a handle on things. He had known he was taking a risk inviting the master vampire when the result was unknown, but the odds of him being soulless and in town at the same time were just too good to be ignored. If he could pull this off, the potential for his reputation in Sunnydale and beyond was increased massively by Angelus bearing witness.

“They say,” Rack continued, “that once a worthy bearer of the sickle passes through the arch, the enchantments the previous owner put on it to keep it hidden will lift and the sickle will appear.”

“Legend has it if I rip one of my fangs out and leave it under my pillow, the tooth fairy will come and leave me a shiny nickel, what makes this any different?”

“This combination, the demon created from the resurrection of a slayer and the powerful witch who’s managed to cling to life despite the powers of the demon? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“So,” Angel made sure his voice was loud here, “Red will pass through the arch and suddenly the sickle will appear and that’s it? She trains for a few weeks, makes the sickle her bitch and we kill the slayer? What’s to stop us killing her the old-fashioned way?” He drew a finger across his throat in demonstration.

Rack had run out of patience now, “What was to stop you killing her the last time, Angelus?”

Angel turned on him, growling. 

***

Upstairs, the three had descended the rope ladder, Spike waiting by the smaller door at the back of the barn and Buffy and Xander rushing round to the front. They had got the impression it was go time. If the demon-Willow was about to get the sickle, now was the time to stop her. From their spot in the hayloft, they had only seen her from the back but Xander had the impression his friend was no longer in there. All he saw were the backs of two pale, ghostly arms and long black hair. If they hadn’t been referring to her by name, he would have thought Rack had brought one of his magic-junkies along for the ride. He was bracing himself for the next part, praying that they could get Willow out of there in one piece.

***

“What I think,” said Angel, who was now sounding more like his usual self, “Is that I’ve heard everything I need to hear. If Willow needs to step through that arch to get hold of the sickle then there is no way in hell she is setting a foot towards it.” Momentary alarm flashed on Rack’s face before the door behind him burst open. At the same time, the huge unwieldy door at the front had been kicked about a foot wide, another kick revealing Xander and Buffy. Fury blazed in Rack’s eyes. 

He whipped round at the sound of Spike’s voice, “Bit anti-climactic, ain’t it? Thought there would be a bit more going on here. Gotta say, Rack, might be time to consider retirement. You’re losing your touch.” He nodded a greeting to Angel and Anya, sauntering towards Rack as he continued, “First mistake, you didn’t bother to find the sodding magical artefact before you called up the big bad vampire you were trying to impress. And second, you failed to notice that the big bad vampire in question was in fact a bleedin’ white hat borrowing his mate’s girlfriend, who isn’t even a demon, incidentally.”

Xander had reached his fiancée by this point and when Spike delivered the Anya bombshell, he gave her a wink. She noticed it seemed a little forced, Xander had drained of colour since entering the room and seeing what Willow had now turned into. He was trying to rally for all their sakes, figuring that he was no use to Willow if he let this destroy him. There was plenty of time to fall apart later if the plan didn’t go their way. At this point, the Willow demon opened its mouth and let out an ear-splitting banshee cry of rage. As the others turned instinctively from the noise, Spike approached, delivering a swift kick to the small of the demon’s back. The yelling stopped and demon-Willow turned towards Spike, the first bit of movement so far. “All right, we get it, you’re not happy, now would you bleeding pipe down a minute?”

Angel had taken Spike’s movement as a cue to start on Rack, and had already got him pinned to the floor. It lasted a moment before Rack delivered a magical blast with a wave of his free hand, launching Angel easily ten feet into the air and twice as many backwards. He landed with a loud metallic ding against a panel from a tractor which was propped against the wall. He righted himself easily. Anya and Xander had made towards Rack but were now moving in slow motion, as if through water, slowed by some enchantment from the warlock, who was on his feet again. 

Buffy had run to Spike’s assistance, but as he’d made to begin the fight with demon-Willow, her feet had left the ground. She had risen from the mud beneath her and was now levitating. Spike and Buffy, who were aiming a flurry of blows at the witch, found that their attacks were glancing off her. Willow-demon wasn’t even bothering to fight back, it was as though she were shielded from their touch by a force field. 

“Shame,” said Buffy to Spike, “This would have been a really good time to have a witch on our team.” 

“Yeah well, if the one we had wasn’t the world’s worst sodding girlfriend, we might have had the good witch on hand for that. Can’t blame her for wanting to stay away from you though, can we?” he directed the last part at the demon-Willow who either didn’t care or didn’t hear. There was no way of reading any of her actions thus far, apart from the scream which if Spike were to hazard a guess, probably meant, “Get your hands off me, vampire,” or words to that effect. 

Rack and Angel were locked into a pretty even fight, with Xander and Anya suspended in mid-walk now, fully halted. The scene was chaos: a vampire and a slayer fighting a levitating demon-witch, a couple of mortals suspended in mid-motion and a warlock and another vampire duelling. 

***

As they had fought, Willow-demon had floated towards the archway. There was nothing they could do to stop her. “No!” yelled Buffy as she neared the arch, Angel ducking a blast of yellow light from Rack’s palm and both ceasing the fight momentarily to turn and watch Willow passing through it. A loud cracking sound emanated from the stones as the Willow-demon fell to the floor on the other side, levitation spell stripped away. She lay still as though thrown there by some unseen, powerful hand.

“I don’t mean to state the obvious,” said Xander, who was still unable to move his legs through his own enchantment, “But that didn’t look particularly successful.”

Buffy ran towards the arch, concern filling her then for Willow, her friend and not Willow, the evil, hate-filled demon. As she passed through the ancient stones, stacked there all those years ago, the ground beneath her started to shake. The rumbling, like an earthquake, seemed localised to the spot where she stood, and she realised with horror that her feet were stuck to the floor. Rack’s mouth was agape as he watched the arch lift upwards, a hill of land rising underneath it as another sound joined the quake: a low, hypnotic chanting of many disembodied voices. All eyes were on Buffy as the quaking, chanting and moving stopped as suddenly as they had come. 

Spike turned to Rack, “Now _that_ is how you put on a show.”

The stones which, stacked together, made up the arch, glowed a deep pink then and Buffy was reminded of the light emanating from her chest during the fake locator spell. Then, when the glow had vanished, so had the stones. All but one, to Buffy’s left side, which had been hollowed out. Buffy turned, mesmerised to see that nestled into the recess, in the rock, was the sickle. 

It was smaller than Buffy had expected, no longer than a bread knife, curved into a tight C. The blade was a brilliant silver and the handle opalescent white, inlaid with a gold eight-pointed star. It was unblemished as though freshly forged.

She was sure the sickle was meant for her in the way she was sure that her name was Buffy Summers, or the way she could tell when a vampire was behind her. It was instinct that drew her to pick it up. She felt herself connect to it, felt the knowledge of how to use it fill her mind as if it had always been there, waiting to be remembered. Rack was so entranced watching her that he had unintentionally broken the connection between himself and the spell holding the mortals bound. Everyone but Willow-demon, who lay still on the floor, was watching in disbelief.

“Hey, neat!” said Buffy casually, leaping down from the mound where the arch had stood only moments before, sickle in hand, “C’mere Rack, want a look?” She was daring him, a twinkle in her eye.

“Here, Luv, think you’re supposed to earn its allegiance before you can use it, remember?”

Buffy turned to him with a sweet smile, “It’s OK, Spike,” and somehow, he knew it was. He shook his head in amazement, his lucky charm. She looked so fucking badass. He made a mental note to give her a good seeing to when this was all over.

Rack rounded on her then but before a spell could even cross his mind, Buffy had held the sickle up in a clenched fist, draining all the power from him. The others saw black vapour pulled from Rack’s core, drawn into the sickle which glowed slightly as it drew the magic out of Sunnydale’s most powerful warlock. He crumpled to the floor and Angel was surprised to see that before him lay an old, wrinkly man, still clearly Rack, scars across his face, milky black eye, but old, ancient even. 

“Looks like he missed a few Botox appointments,” quipped Anya lightly. She had felt entirely out of her depth for most of this evening, almost paralysed with the fear of what might come to pass, but from the moment Buffy had risen on the mud mound and descended, sickle in hand, she was regaining the sensation of reality.

Buffy turned to Willow then. Everything felt so clear in her head, what had seemed an impossible hurdle was now no different to taking on some fledges at the cemetery with Spike. “Up.” she said to the demon, who rose unnaturally in one smooth motion, as though lifted by a wire. Buffy was unsure whether it was the sickle’s or the demon-Willow’s magic that had done it but it mattered not. She turned to Spike, “I’m gonna pull the demon out of her and put it into Rack, can you do the honours?”

Spike grinned, happy to be back in on the action and he nodded as he drew his trusty silver dagger from the holster in his belt. He had almost a third of his home armoury hidden about his person this evening, either in his coat pockets or strapped to his body and he was glad the planning hadn’t gone to waste. He lifted the wizened, depleted Rack easily by the armpits, he was much frailer and lighter now, and held him where Buffy could get to him. 

“Guys,” Buffy turned to Xander, Anya and Angel now, “When I take the demon from her, it’ll just be whatever’s left of Willow in there.” It wasn’t an instruction but a warning, especially to Xander, to prepare for the worst. Xander pushed down grief which seemed to be bubbling at the surface. He was willing her to still be alive in there. 

Angel and Anya stepped closer towards Willow, ready to fight if need be. Buffy raised the sickle again, drawing out not vapour this time but an almost holographic image of a form. There wasn’t much by way of features, just a dark outline of a head, shoulders, arms and legs, crackling in and out like bad signal on an old TV. She span, turning the sickle towards Rack and the figure disappeared into him. Spike didn’t hang around to see what scary movie zombie-warlock lay within. 

Really, what he wanted to do was slice the warlock’s neck open like a ripe grapefruit. He would like nothing more than to drain that worthless trick magician drop by drop. Glancing at Buffy, he wasn’t sure quite how much this would freak her out, if at all, but the last thing he needed was to give those sodding white hat chums another reason to mistrust him. He decided to hold back on the ultra-violence and go for a clean kill instead. 

Rack’s body was weak and fragile but his gaze was strong and unwavering. He glared up at Spike whose head was hovering over his own, like an evil dentist about to perform a painful extraction. He was leant backwards against the vampire in a grotesque imitation of a trust exercise. Spike looked down at him and smiled as he struck neatly through Rack’s heart. He couldn’t resist twisting the knife slightly, after all an ex-evil vampire’s kicks were few and far between when it came to moments like these, and he watched with pleasure as the aged former warlock’s eyes bulged between puckered, wrinkly eyelids.

He pulled the knife sharply out and Rack convulsed, blood gurgling out from between his lips as though he’d spat out a large gulp of tea. Usually, the sight of blood got Spike’s mouth watering, fresh blood was the vampire equivalent of a hot bucket of KFC chicken or a box of warm Krispy Kremes, but the old man’s blood was vinegary, soured from magical preservation. With the demon inside him, the newly-mortal Rack didn’t set Spike’s chip off, although he would have gladly accepted his robo-migraine for the pleasure he was taking in the act. 

As the ancient mortal’s head fell limply to the side, Spike released him carelessly, stepping back to let him crumple to the floor. “And good bloody riddance,” he said, wiping his knife clean on Rack’s shirt before holstering it. Buffy felt the urge to kiss him but now was not the time for romantic impulses. She took a breath before she turned to Willow.

***

“Buffy?” came the quiet voice of their friend. Her skin, which was still covered in scars and gouges, showed red instead of black tinges now where the skin had scabbed. She was still extremely pale but the grey tinge had vanished with the demon. Her hair remained long, black and wild but her eyes were green once more. She looked like a patchwork re-imagining of their friend. Xander was sat on the floor a little way away being held by Anya as he processed his relief at his friend’s survival. The moment he’d seen that she was alive, the adrenaline that was keeping him going had run out and his legs had almost given way. Spike and Angel were either side of Buffy now, all three facing the witch. “Hey Will,” Buffy started weakly, “Long time no see.”

Willow lifted her head then to face Buffy and to her horror, she saw the witch’s eyes flash black once more. When she spoke again, her voice was not the deep, masculine tone of the demon but nor was it the sweet, soft sing-song voice of Willow. She sounded cruel and harsh, and Buffy’s heart sank in realisation that Spike’s warning had been right, Willow was in deep shit with the dark magic. “How nice of you to pay me a visit.” 

***


	20. Chapter 20 We Need Giles

At the realisation that Willow was still very much bad news, Xander and Anya got to their feet again, hanging back as Angel and Spike approached the spot where Buffy and Willow stood face to face. “Heard a rumour you were in with a bad crowd,” said Buffy calmly, “thought I’d come and see for myself.”

“You can talk,” replied the witch, “you’re on your second vampire lover now and this one doesn’t even have a soul.” Spike and Angel cast each other a sidelong glance of amusement. Their shared part in the evening’s activities had really softened the blow for Angel, and it felt comfortable to be working as a duo again.

Xander, who was more surprised than anyone to find himself standing up for Spike, chimed in, “Yeah and somehow even without a soul, he chooses to be on the side of good. What’s your excuse, Will?” His voice was laced with disappointment and Willow laughed then, a cruel, high pitched laugh, “Aww Xan, you upset coz I’m not gonna watch ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ with you this year?”

Usually, witty replies were Xander’s speciality but today, he seemed to be shit out of luck. Spike, who had been touched by the display of solidarity from Xander, noticed him struggling to find the words and cut in, “What’s this all about Red, you upset because you didn’t get a big gold star for bringing Buffy back to life? Here was me blaming the demon for your terrible temper but turns out it was you throwing the toddler tantrum all along. Tut tut. You wanna watch it with the voodoo pal, that shit’ll eat you up.”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, smiling at the Cordelia-ness of her next words, “I mean, just look what it’s done to your complexion. Moisturise lately?”

“You just don’t get it,” sneered Willow, “I’ve been a powerful witch for longer than any of you care to admit. I was the only one who ever caused Glory real pain and she was a god.”

“Well, god in a mortal body,” Spike corrected, “Pretty much sapped her of her powers. Wouldn’t be bragging about that if I were you. She’d flatten any one of us on her home turf. And anyway, as I recall it, I think the slayer here ended up coming to your rescue when you went off on your little revenge mission.”

“Enough,” Willow said shrilly, flicking a bolt of red from her finger tip towards Spike, a long cut appearing down his cheek and blossoming with glossy red blood. Spike took a finger and wiped it along the cut, winking at Willow and saying, “Vampire, remember? You really think a little blood’s gonna scare me?” He licked the blood crudely from his finger with the tip of his outstretched tongue, “Delicious.”

Buffy, who was getting concerned that Spike was angering Willow and would get himself hurt, decided to interrupt. The witch, who was indeed staring daggers at the vampire, turned to listen to Buffy as she said, “Anyway Will, what I wanna know is, how come you’re so mad at me all of a sudden? You were all sweetness and light earlier this week.”

“Yeah,” said Anya, “You seemed pretty keen to bring Buffy back, what changed?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t bringing Buffy back so we could braid each other’s hair,” Willow snarled, “I was practicing my craft. I’m going to sell your corpse to the highest bidder. The blood of a slayer contains mystical properties you could only dream of.”

“So, you bring her back from space-limbo just to kill her again? Bloody charming, this one!” Spike pulled a face of comedic disgust.

“Yeah,” said Xander, who found it easier to stand up to Willow now that her venom was directed at Buffy, “With friends like these, who needs enemies? Could’ve let us in on the plan Will, mighta helped you find a new hobby. Knitting maybe, or I’ve heard roller blading is really making a comeback.”

Angel, who had the most experience of dark matters, asked a question then which only Spike and Willow understood, “So, the Sect found you, huh? Guess we should’ve seen that one coming.”

Willow clapped sarcastically, “Well done, Angel, you figured it out in the end.” She went to continue but Spike interjected with a look of utter disbelief on his face, “Oh Jesus Christ, Red, have you no shame? A slow clap! You gonna get an eye patch and a wheelchair too or is one movie-villain cliché enough for now?” 

Xander snorted, he was beginning to think maybe Spike wasn’t so bad after all. He turned to Angel, “Wanna tell us what the Sect is?”

“If Willow’s been trying to broker deals in the underworld for slayer blood, she’s joined the Sect. They’re basically an evil cult who recruit up and coming talent.”

“Hear that Red? Talent! Don’t know if I’d go that far, Angel. Thought they were long gone anyway, haven’t heard of them for years.”

“They went a bit more corporate,” Angel explained.

“Ah well, yeah, that’s a bit more your remit these days, never was one for organised crime myself, takes all the fun out of it.”

The witch was growing restless as the vampires talked shop. She cut through their chatter, “So there we have it Buff, sorry to break it to you but you’re the only thing standing between me and my seat in the Sect. Long story short, you gotta go. I won’t lie to you, I’m a little disappointed that you got your hands on the sickle, I would've made a killing selling your slayer powers, but you win some, you lose some and I’m afraid this is one you’re gonna lose.” 

Where she had felt certain in her previous actions with the sickle, Buffy had no idea what her next move should be. She knew she could drain the magic from Willow, just as easily as she had with Rack but if there was any part of the real Willow beneath this monster she’d become, Buffy didn’t want to risk killing her, she couldn’t. 

Seizing on her moment of indecision, Willow took action, raising both arms in front of her, pointed at Buffy. Rage darkened her face as the air in front of her hands rippled with the energy of the spell. Buffy felt herself lifted by a powerful force and she was thrown towards the back wall of the barn, sailing through the air until she slammed hard into the wood panels, winded.

The four remaining fighters rushed Willow then, running at her, the vampires both in game face. Willow bellowed a magically amplified, “No!” as the four were slammed back by another spell, falling like dominoes. Her feet leaving the floor once more, she rose a few inches from the ground. Apparently walking wasn’t her style, any more. 

Spike watched as familiar blue bolts erupted from her palm, shot in the direction of the jumble of metal farm equipment, near the place where Xander had fallen. A long metal rod disconnected easily from a partially disassembled tractor, blue peeling paint and jagged ends. It flew into the witch’s hand and she caught it easily, stepping down to meet the ground as she reached the place where Buffy lay. Before Buffy could jump to her feet, Willow threw the rod like a magical javelin, driving it straight through Buffy’s torso, under the rib cage and out the other side, pinning her to the wall. The slayer’s eyes widened briefly in surprise before her head fell forward, eyes closed.

Angel, Xander and Anya who were back on their feet now, were staring transfixed, paralysed, but Spike was running towards her, the cry of “Buffy” half-sticking in his throat as the witch flicked a hand in his direction, lifting him from his feet up towards the rafters with another spell, where he fell with a sickening thud. His body seared with pain but he forced himself back up, starting back towards her. He had to get to her, to help her. This time, however, he did not make it all the way back towards the spot where Willow stood before his beloved slayer. 

Having watched Buffy lie motionless for a lifetime, Spike observed enraptured as the slayer lifted her head, eyes open as she reached out in front of her, taking firm hold of the metal bar in both hands and yanking it out of her torso with a sickening squelch. “Gross,” she exclaimed, turning to Willow who was as stupefied as the rest of them, “that was so not cool.” She turned to the group at large “And may I also add a gigantic helping of what-the-hell. I’m no medical expert but I’m pretty sure that’s not normal.” 

Spike would wonder later where he got the presence of mind after watching his bloody incredible girl pull that damn pole from herself but by some miraculous autopilot, he found himself running towards Buffy holding the sickle which had lain discarded on the ground. “Here luv,” he said, snapping Willow out of the same hypnotic amazement the others were in as he handed the weapon back to her. 

Buffy didn’t hesitate this time. She brought the sickle in an arc in front of her, producing silvery bindings which wrapped snake-like around the witch, snapping her arms to her sides and drawing her legs together so she looked like some huge shining cocoon. 

“Eximo!” shouted a furious Willow. Nothing happened. “Eximo!”

“Huh,” smiled Angel, “guess that didn’t work.”

Spike swaggered up to Willow, pausing to hold up two fingers behind her head to make bunny ears. “Grow up!” said Buffy, laughing as Spike swept towards her, lifting her up and hugging her so tightly she thought her ribs might break. She didn’t care. Spike closed his eyes, grounding himself so he could believe that she was really here, standing in front of him after the scene he had just witnessed.

“Spike, mind if I cut in?” asked Xander tentatively, after waiting a couple of minutes, and Spike broke away reluctantly, smiling as Xander and Anya sandwiched his slayer between them in a big hug. 

“I don’t know what the hell you just did,” said Xander, “but it was super freaking cool and I’m gonna need you to teach me.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Buffy as she was relinquished by the happy couple, “pretty sure that was nothing to do with the sickle.”

Through a ripped hole in her black t shirt, plenty of blood was visible but what should have been fresh, bright red, and pouring out of her body, was instead dark and congealed. She lifted her shirt to expose the wound, which had completely sealed up save for the deep red scabs. She had experienced a moment’s pain when the rod went through her body but now felt absolutely fine. She inspected the wound for a moment, watched by the others, before declaring it, “gross,” and lowering her shirt again.

“I’ll say,” said Anya.

“What are we gonna do about Willow?” asked Angel, who had hung back for a moment but now pulled Buffy into a gentle, friendly hug while he spoke. 

Xander and Buffy answered together, “We need Giles.”

***


	21. Chapter 21 Out Of Time

Anya and Xander were sitting up front on the bench seat of the truck and Angel was at the wheel, racing back towards the crypt, trying to beat the sunrise. Willow was now tied cross-legged in the corner of the flatbed, eyes closed as she no doubt tried to summon some supernatural forces to bust her out of her bindings. Buffy, as the sickle’s new bearer, was confident that she was going nowhere fast. Spike was sitting with his back resting on the opposite corner to Willow, and Buffy had her head nestled in his chest.

There was so much racing through her head. She didn’t know what it meant that she had survived Willow’s attack. She didn’t know what would happen to Willow. She didn’t know why the sickle had presented itself to her, or why her friend had suddenly become so twisted and evil that she would bring her back from the dead with intentions to sell her off to the highest bidder. As she sat there, cuddled up to Spike, she said the one thing she did know. “I love you, Spike.”

Spike was the happiest vampire in the world. He didn’t just feel it, he knew it was true. He enveloped her in his arms even tighter then, “How did I get so lucky?” he asked her.

***

When they got back to the crypt, Anya went in first. She was going to take Tara and Dawn downstairs and give them the heads up about the Willow situation. Will, who couldn’t move in her tight bindings and probably wouldn’t have cooperated even if she could, was carried in by Spike and Angel, who were getting along pretty well since the shock of having Buffy perform an astonishing feat of immortality before their very eyes. It had provided some perspective for Angel, who was not only happy to see her still standing, but had begun to accept that what Spike and Buffy had was not just some weird cry for help. 

Having already seen Anya usher the girls down the ladder, Giles knew whatever he would see was not going to be pretty and yet he couldn’t quite comprehend the scene that unfolded before him when the door swung open a second time. Buffy, wearing all black with a rip in the middle of her T shirt, seemed to be caked in what looked like masses of dried blood. To Giles’ relief, she was clutching the sickle of Astaroth safely in her hands.

The two vampires, who had been fairly churlish around one another the last time he’d seen them, were now amicably making jokes over the body of Willow, who seemed almost catatonic and bound by what appeared to be magical bonds. “Good heavens,” he managed, “what on earth happened to you, Buffy? Are you hurt?”

“Oh, that,” she said, not quite knowing where to begin.

Xander, who was bringing up the rear, interrupted enthusiastically, not able to hold it in a moment longer. “Buffy’s a wizard!” he declared.

Angel, Spike and Buffy burst into laughter at this, Xander looking pleased to have made them laugh but not entirely sure what was so funny. Buffy ran to her watcher, giving him the longest hug he’d ever received. She felt so much uncertainty, mingled with such great joy at having finally told Spike she loved him, along with relief from the protective hug she’d received from Angel at Bishop’s Castle. When he broke away, the vampires had set Willow down into a chair and Giles took his first proper look at her.

“Good grief,” he said, “The demon must have almost entirely taken her over. Tara and I have found a spell and ---”

“Ah, about that,” Buffy chipped in, “we won’t be needing the spell. I kinda already got the demon out of her.”

“Surely you don’t mean to tell me –”

“Believe me,” Xander explained gently, “you think she’s bad now. Just be glad you didn’t see her before.” He shuddered involuntarily at the memory and Giles couldn’t really conceive of how Willow could have looked worse than this.

“She really was into the dark magic long before your resurrection,” he concluded simply.

“We found out she was trying to sell Buffy to the highest bidder. Her initiation to the Sect,” Angel said, and Giles blanched, taking a seat on the sofa and leaning his temple into his fingertips, his elbow leant on the armrest.

Just then, Anya climbed up through the hatch, followed by Tara and Dawn, who ran to Buffy, squeezing her sister into a tight hug. Anya hadn’t explained everything, she’d only told the girls about the Willow side of the story, mainly to give them some forewarning that Willow was still evil, that she looked terrifying, and that she was magically bound. Spike was touched when the Bit ran to him second, hugging him fiercely. He patted her awkwardly on the back.

Tara and Dawn sat on two camping chairs next to each other, as far away from Willow as possible. They were holding hands. Buffy smiled warmly at the good witch, who looked so very tired, as though she’d been up all week.

“Right,” said Buffy, “Where do I start?”

Xander, with his knack for simplifying even the most complicated of adventures, obliged, relieving Buffy of story telling duties. He told them about the arch, how the sickle had presented itself to Buffy who seemed to be a “Sickle ninja who totally knew how to use it straight away.” How Rack had his powers “vacuumed out of him” and the demon “zapped into him” and how Spike had killed them both in one fell swoop. “A two-for-one-special,” he had called it, much to Spike’s amusement. The audience listened raptly, even the ones who’d witnessed it first-hand. It had been such a hectic evening, it was heartening to know they’d truly seen everything they thought they’d seen.

When Xander got to the bit about Willow impaling Buffy, the room held its breath, Tara, Dawn and Giles snapping their eyes towards the hole in Buffy’s shirt as he concluded, “And she was dead but then she just pulled it out and jumped back to her feet and now I guess she’s immortal.” Hearing Xander say it aloud made Buffy feel fully freaked. She was sitting on the couch between Giles and Spike and she turned to the former, “I can’t be immortal, can I? Look, I have this wound still and … I can’t be immortal?”

Giles had gone beyond the point of disbelief now. He couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing. Another resurrection. How on earth had she become immortal?

“Healing cleanly from wounds isn’t immortal, it’s impervious,” chimed in Angel, who once upon a time had thrown a knife through the mayor’s hand, him having pulled it out without leaving a trace, “If you’re immortal, it doesn’t mean you don’t feel pain or get injured, it’s just the injuries can’t kill you. Kinda like me and Spike.”

“Well, that would explain why the life-threatening portion of your injury, the, erm,” Giles grimaced at the thought as he continued, “internal damage, seems to have disappeared while the external has just skipped through several stages of healing.”

“Does it hurt, luv?” Spike asked gently.

“It hurt when it went in but then, once I opened my eyes, I felt fine, it didn’t even hurt when I pulled it out.”

“Cool!” said Dawn, and Xander nodded at her in enthusiastic agreement.

“If you’re immortal, it would explain why Spike was able to hit you when we were testing to see if you were a demon,” Tara pointed out.

“Oh yeah,” said Xander, “we hadn’t thought of that.” It was true, in all the drama of finding out that Willow was the demon, they’d forgotten that Spike’s chip didn’t fire when he had tried to cause her pain.

“And you did say you felt like any length of time could have passed while you were in limbo,” Spike said. At this, Giles leapt up from the couch as if he’d sat on a burning poker, yelling “of course!” and hurrying to select a book from the vast selection which lay on the table. He explained as he flicked through the pages, “It makes sense. You couldn’t tell how much time was passing, perhaps you weren’t in limbo or another dimension after all, but rather totally out of time.”

“Out of time?” Buffy asked.

“Yes. It’s possible that instead of being sent to one dimension, you were caught between them all, in a place where time no longer existed.” He came upon the page he was looking for and read quickly from it, “When a person is pulled out of time, they may have no idea how long they have been travelling for. This is sometimes a consequence of entering a gateway created by a curse or a spell. Persons who have been pulled out of time may find that they experience certain side effects … drowsiness … shedding … depression … aha! And immortality.”

“Hang on, did you say shedding?” said Buffy, repulsed.

Giles looked at her incredulously, “Buffy, are you really telling me that’s what you took from the paragraph I just read to you?”

“You’re immortal, Buff,” said Spike, gently.

“I’m … not quite sure I can take that in right now,” she said and the others nodded. None of them could take it in, either. They sat in silence for a few moments before Anya decided to change the subject. Everyone looked as though they were getting lost in their thoughts, and there was plenty more that needed discussing. “The Sect,” she said, “What do we know about the Sect?”

Buffy cast a glance at Willow who seemed to be deep in meditation or catatonia or maybe just … “Is she asleep?”

“Aw,” said Xander, “She’s all tuckered out from a day of being evil!”

“Well, just in case, let’s make sure we’re careful what we say when she’s in earshot,” said Giles suspiciously. “Angel, care to do the honours?”

“Sure thing, Rupert. The Sect are an ancient order of dark magicians. Witches and warlocks who are hand-selected for some special talent or skill which can further the organisation’s needs. They tend to use a level of brainwashing along with a promise of great power or riches to get their members to commit dark acts as an initiation ritual. It’s basically a cult for the supernatural.”

“How come I’ve never heard of them?” said Buffy.

“You will have come across plenty of folk who work for them,” Angel explained, “They don’t tend to publicly take credit for the chaos they cause, they prefer to fly under the radar. Looks like one of them has caught wind of Willow getting involved with black magic and sent someone to go and check her out.”

“What can we do about it?” said Buffy, “If I use the sickle to pull the magic out of her, I don’t know if there’s enough of her left in there to…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, “ _Keep her alive_ ” but everyone knew.

“I’m afraid that’s a question that will require a little extra reading,” said the librarian, predictably.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not exactly ready to hit the books.” said Xander. Buffy was relieved he’d said it first.

“Yeah, finding out you’re immortal really takes it out of a girl,” she agreed.

“Well, it’s not like Willow’s going anywhere,” said Tara, who had been avoiding looking at her - well, she supposed it was her ex-girlfriend, although she hadn’t had much opportunity to go through the formalities.

“Do we know if the magic will hold?” Giles asked Buffy.

“I’m totally certain,” Buffy said simply, “Don’t ask me how I know, but I feel a connection to it.”

“I believe you,” said Giles, “It’s in keeping with what we read about it taking an allegiance. Well. If you’re sure, I think it’s probably best if we all head back to Revello. Are you and Spike OK to stay here and guard Willow overnight? Angel can take us back through the tunnels.”

“Fine,” said Spike, raising an eyebrow, “She can sleep in the laundry room.”

Him and Angel carried the sleeping Willow down the stairs. All the magic that she had performed that evening coupled with the removal of her demon had caused her to run out of energy, like a baby falling asleep in its high chair.

Buffy hugged all of them before they left. She sure was feeling affectionate these days. She drew the sickle in a zig zag in front of the door to the laundry room where Willow was laid on the futon, adding another layer of magical protection, just in case.

“Finally,” said Spike, “I’ve got you all to myself.”

***


	22. Chapter 22 Someone Else's Underwear

By the time they got into Spike’s bed, it was early morning. “I’m starting to keep nocturnal hours like you,” Buffy mused, tracing circles on Spike’s bare chest with her fingernails.

“Well, if you’re going to start keeping to my schedule, I had better keep you entertained hadn’t I?” said Spike, pouncing on her and tickling her mercilessly. She shrieked, managing to wriggle free between peals of laughter and half falling off the bed in the process.

“Where’d you think you’re going?” teased Spike, grabbing her by the legs and pulling her back onto the mattress, leaning over her so he could kiss her neck. She leaned back, letting her head hang over the edge as he kissed a trail down her chest, between the cups of her smooth, black cotton bra. As he reached the healing scabs on her stomach, he lifted his head and she followed suit, looking at him to see why he’d stopped.

“Buff,” he said, “you know what this means, don’t you?”

“That being immortal isn’t as glamorous as it is in the movies?”

He chuckled, “No, you daft bint. It means we’re gonna live forever.” He winked.

She grinned. He’d said “we”, as in, Spike and Buffy bobbing along merrily through the decades. Suddenly immortality didn’t seem so daunting after all. “ _Just think how many times we could have sex,”_ she thought.

They fucked then, Buffy on top so Spike wasn’t leaning into her gross, scabby wound. She started off softly, kissing the cut on his cheek, then his lips, grinding against his dick infuriatingly slowly. She ran her fingers, palms facing up, down the length of his abs. His eyes closed and his mouth parted involuntarily. It felt so good it was almost torture. He returned the gesture, running his fingernails lightly down the tops of her soft thighs.

She scooted down the bed a bit, running a finger lightly underneath the waistband of his Calvins. When she pulled his boxers down, taking his cock in her hand, he groaned and she flashed him a devilish grin, raising the forefinger of her free hand to her lips, “Shh, don’t wanna wake The Wicked Witch of the West Coast.” His nostrils flared slightly in amusement, and he started to say, “You’re a right little comedienne, aren’t you,” but the thought was lost halfway towards his lips as she dipped her head down, licking his cock from base to tip with no prior warning. Instead, he said, “Fucking hell,” lifting his head slightly where he lay, looking down in time to see her take his cock deep in her mouth. She wrapped one hand around the base of it, wanking him off while she sucked his bell end. No wonder he’d found it so difficult to get her off his mind, he thought, she was an actual sex genius.

By the time she got bored of sucking his dick and lifted herself back on top of him, guiding it into her pussy with one hand, it took all his willpower not to come immediately. His dick was so wet with her saliva, and the moan she made as she slid down onto him so uninhibited, Spike thought it was borderline cruel, not that he wanted it any other way. She lost herself completely, head thrown back as she fingered her clit with two fingers. She came quickly with an, “Oh my god Spike,” pussy gripping his dick like a sexy pink vice. He began to protest as she dismounted from his still-hard dick, until he saw her stick her tongue out and point to her mouth, letting him know where she wanted him to come. 

“You are absolute filth,” he said admiringly as she slipped off the bed and onto her knees beside him. He knelt above her on the mattress, grabbing her face with his left hand and his dick in his right. Her mouth still open, she stuck her tongue out again, moaning softly as he covered her tongue and face. She licked her lips. “What a pretty sight,” he said, pulling her back onto her feet and into the bed, handing her a towel from the nightstand which she used to wipe her face. “What’d you keep that in there for?” she asked mischievously.

“Daft cow,” he said, “I love you.” He gently pulled the strands of sweaty hair which were stuck to her forehead back out of her face, kissing the top of her head as he pulled the comforter up over her, drawing her into his arms and watching as she fell easily to sleep.

Spike had held back “I love you” so many times this past week. Now he had an eternity with her, the wait didn’t seem so long.

***

It was early afternoon when they woke, Buffy calling Giles to come and fetch her and Willow. They figured it was too risky taking her through the tunnels, in case one of the Sect tried to intercept her. She used the sickle to open the door to the laundry room which had been Willow’s cell overnight. Willow was awake but apparently didn’t feel like talking to Spike and Buffy. “Oh, shame,” said Spike sarcastically, “Perhaps she heard you calling her the Wicked Witch of the West Coast last night, luv. You must have hurt her feelings.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes, climbing the ladder with one hand, the other holding the sickle. Once she got to the top, she flicked the weapon neatly and Willow zoomed towards her like a bottle rocket. Not a very dignified method of travel for one who fancied herself extremely important, Buffy thought with a grin as Spike shouted up after them, “Oi! You never told me you could do that.” He started up the ladder, “How come you let me and Angel haul her in like a sack of bleeding potatoes earlier?”

“Well, it looked like you two were bonding, I didn’t wanna ruin the fun. Besides, I thought it might be enough for Giles to see Willow’s new makeover before he found out that I’m a … what was it Xander called me? Oh yeah, a wizard.”

“Few sandwiches short of a picnic, that one,” said Spike, but Buffy noticed it lacked the usual tone of derision.

Once Giles knocked at the door, Spike said a quick hello before heading off down the tunnels. He’d meet them there. Giles helped Buffy wrap Willow in a blanket and they carried her to the car, Buffy not thinking it the most sensible plan to wield a big shiny long-lost sickle out in the open. As they pulled away in the Giles-mobile, Buffy realised she missed Spike already.

***

When they got to the Magic Box, Angel, Tara and Dawn were already sat at a table poring over books, trying to find out Willow’s fate. Anya was sat on the counter and Xander stood between her legs, kissing her. Spike arrived only a minute after Giles and Buffy. “Like a pair of bloody teenagers,” he said in the general direction of Xander and Anya, a lewd grin spreading across his face. It soon vanished when Xander turned to look at him, shooting back, “Oh, hey Spike, nice hickey.”

“Oi!” he rounded on Buffy, “You promised it didn’t leave a mark.”

“Oh yeah, what you gonna do about it, vampire?” she teased, shifting uncomfortably when she remembered Angel was in the room. He made a concerted effort not to look up from the book he was reading. He was trying to be happy for them.

“Tara, honey,” said Willow in a bored voice, finally speaking and causing Tara to shrink back into her chair uncomfortably as the witch addressed her for the first time, “You gotta get me out of here. I’m surrounded by morons.” She shouted the last word, clearly unhappy at the levity being displayed by her captors.

“W-Willow,” said Tara, standing up bravely, “You’re n-not my girlfriend anymore.” Dawn put a kind hand on the back of her arm.

“Well, no shit,” said Willow.

“Anyone mind if I gag her?” said Spike, feeling oddly protective of Tara.

“Please, let me,” said Buffy, pulling the sickle from a black leather backpack she’d found at Spike’s and given him a hard time for owning. (“What was it you called Giles and Xander? Anoraks?”, she had said and he had mumbled something along the lines of, “Well, sometimes I go out of town.”)

“Any last words?” she said with a grin, swishing the sickle which glued Willow’s lips firmly together before she could answer, “Whoops, too late,” she said as Willow glared at her from the chair they’d sat her in, a little way away from where Dawn and Tara were reading.

“What are we gonna do?” said Xander, “We can’t just keep her here forever as a prisoner.”

“It says here,” said Dawn, looking up from a book, “that if we drain the magic out of her it will take the darkness with it, but it doesn’t say whether she’d …”

“Survive,” finished Tara softly.

“I wish there was some way we could speak to her,” said Xander earnestly, “The real her. She’d know what to do.”

Cogs started turning in Buffy’s brain then, “Maybe we can.”

“I’m afraid,” began Giles, “That it would take magic far beyond that which any of us possess to pull off a spell like that.”

Buffy held up the sickle, “Actually,” she said, “we do.”

“Of course,” said Angel, “Rack’s powers are still in that thing.”

“Bingo,” said Buffy, turning to Xander with a smirk, “Hey Xan, wanna be a wizard?”

Xander had always felt like the odd one out in their little trio at Sunnydale High, not possessing any special skills besides a ridiculous sense of loyalty that often got him in more trouble than it was worth. “Hell yeah I do!” he said, then, “Wait… Rack wasn’t the nicest guy, it’s not gonna turn me into man-Willow is it? Because I don’t look great with long hair, it’s really not my vibe.”

Buffy turned to Giles for an answer. “No, I shouldn’t think it will,” he said, “although if anything does go awry, we’ve got Buffy on hand to pull the magic back out of you. I think the main issue is the length of time magic is left unchecked in the system.”

“As long as it’s temporary, it should be fine,” agreed Angel.

Xander was a little disappointed that he wouldn’t get to keep the powers but he stepped forward nonetheless. “OK. Hit me.”

Buffy raised the sickle, channelling the black vapour which had been yanked from the warlock, sending it into Xander. It seemed to snake its way in through his nostrils, mouth and ears, much to his dismay. Once the last of the vapour was sucked in through his mouth, he gagged slightly, making a “yack” sound, “That was so not as cool as it looked when I saw you do it last night,” he said, “It feels wrong, like I’m wearing someone else’s underwear.”

“Honey, are you gonna do the spell?” Anya prompted.

“Hold your horses! I was getting to it. Verum faciem tuam cutis spiritum bonum geminae revelare. Happy?” His mocking of Anya ceased as he watched the scars fade from Willow’s face, her skin smoothing out. Her hair and body remained unchanged but the black eyes turned back to green, the blush returned to her face and lips and the scowl vanished, leaving behind the Willow they had all been missing so dearly.

Buffy raised the sickle, ungluing her magically sealed lips.

Willow looked at them all in alarm before letting out a blood curdling scream.

***


	23. Chapter 23 I Know What I Did

“Will is that you?” Xander asked urgently, eyes that had been glittering with the excitement of doing his first magic spell now filling with concern. Willow’s face looked out of place amongst the long black hair and bindings. When she heard Xander’s voice, she stopped screaming, eyes searching his face frantically, “Help me.” The two words sounded so forlorn, it was all that Xander could do to not start crying. “We’re here Will, we’re gonna help you.”

Willow was now scanning the faces in the room, landing on Tara, “Tara! Baby I’m so sorry,” she started, and Tara, tears beginning to spill from her eyes as she saw the true face of her ex-girlfriend, stood up and walked towards the training room door. “I’m sorry, I-I can’t,” she said as her voice began to break. Buffy gave Dawn a knowing look and Dawn nodded apologetically at Willow as she ran after the good witch to keep her company.

Angel took the floor then, “Hey Willow, good to see you,” he said gently, “Tara’s a little upset right now. Do you remember how you got here?” Giles, who normally took the fatherly role, was unbelievably grateful that he didn’t have to take the lead on this one. He had watched Xander, Willow and Buffy grow into young adults and the events of the last year were really more than one watcher could take.

“I’ve been trying to get out,” Willow began softly. She sounded terrified, repeating, “I couldn’t get out.”

“OK,” said Angel calmly. He knew they might have finite time before the dark Willow returned to the fore and he needed to keep her composed so they could get the information they needed, “Can you tell us how you got here?”

Willow’s face fell, eyes lifting remorsefully to meet Buffy’s. Any hostility Buffy had felt towards her had melted the instant she had returned to her true face and she spoke reassuringly, “It’s OK Will, we just want to get you out of there. We need you to try and tell us what happened.”

Anya and Giles, who had been whispering to one another, slipped silently over to the table. They didn’t want to crowd Willow, and Giles wanted to have his books on hand in case she said anything they could use to help her.

Spike, with his knack for knowing what people were feeling, even when they hadn’t figured it out themselves, spoke gently to her then. He didn’t think he would ever forgive her for what she’d done to Buffy but this was his girl’s best friend and now was not the time for pettiness. “S’alright,” he said, “Believe me, anything you’ve done, me and Angel have done worse a thousand times over.” Angel nodded solemnly and Willow finally began her tale.

“I got involved with dark magic,” she said, shame-faced, not looking at any of them.

“Yeah, we kinda figured that much Red, when’d you get into all of that?”

“When all the stuff was going down with Glory, you know, it kinda started then but after Buffy …” she hesitated.

“Popped her clogs,” Spike provided.

“Well, yeah, I found this guy, Nox and at first he said he was going to teach me how to use magic, you know, he was gonna help me get Buffy back but he told me he could make it hurt less. The feeling of Buffy being gone. He started using the magicks to make me feel better but …”

“But it’s bleedin’ addictive?”

“Yeah and after a while, he found out who Buffy was, found out she was the slayer. I kept trying to stop, I knew he was bad news but I just couldn’t. By the time we brought Buffy back, I’d promised myself to the Sect. I…” she looked guiltily at Buffy, who nodded that she should continue. She was mortified hearing the details of Willow’s misdeeds but they needed to know.

“I didn’t care about anything then, just wanted everyone to think I was still part of the gang, so I could give Buffy to the Leader. They were going to give me powers, and the feeling … I was addicted. They were telling me all this stuff about how all of you never really appreciated me and how Buffy and Giles were holding me back.” Giles and Anya kept their faces towards the books they were thumbing through but neither of them was reading, they were clinging raptly to every word that came from the witch’s mouth. Anya couldn’t believe she’d missed the signs of this if it had been going on for so long. She wasn’t the only one in the room who felt a great sense of guilt and responsibility.

“At first, I could keep it inside, you know, but by the time the demon started taking over, I was already not in control of what I was doing most of the time. It’s been like I’m watching little moments of someone else’s life. Since the thing with the demon, I haven’t even been awake for most of it. Sometimes I would see stuff, see Rack and the demon talking, it was like being in hell.” She was crying softly now as she explained, but was too tightly wrapped in her glowing restraints for anyone to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“That what happened to your face?” Spike asked astutely and Willow nodded.

“I tried to get out, I could feel myself drowning in the magic. It just took over. And then it was too late. It was all that was left of me.”

“Well, the demon’s not in there anymore,” said Buffy, gently, “I got that out for you but…” she couldn’t find the words to explain that Willow still wasn’t free.

“I know.” Willow said sadly, “The magic still has control. It’s weird, I know it’s me really but it’s like everything good in me just got pushed down to the bottom. I’m trapped.”

Anya knew everyone was skirting round the issue of withdrawing Willow’s magic and she stood then, ready to step up in her role as chief straight-talker. “Hi Willow. Look, nobody wants to say this but … Buffy has the Sickle of Astaroth, she knows how to use it. We can get the magic out of you. The problem is, we’re not too sure how much of you is left in there that hasn’t been affected.”

“Yeah, you got in pretty deep there, mate,” Spike agreed.

“We’re not sure there’s enough of you left to keep you alive,” she couldn’t look at Xander as she said this, she needed to keep a level head.

“You have to.” said Willow, simply, looking imploringly at Buffy, “I can’t be like this. I’m not even me anymore. I know what I did to you, Buffy.”

Buffy and Xander were unable to stop the tears which fell from their eyes.

***

In the training room, Tara had fallen to pieces. She couldn’t bear to hear what Willow had to say, she didn’t know how to deal with this. Buffy knocked gently before walking in. “Hey guys. Tara, can we talk a minute?” Tara nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes which were replaced with fresh ones immediately. She saw that Buffy had been crying too and stood up from her spot on the mat next to Dawn.

“Willow wants us to take the magic from her. We told her we don’t know what’s going to happen but she wants us to do it anyway.” She steeled herself before saying what she knew she had to say, to give Tara the chance to make her decision, “Tara, she might not survive this. She wants you to be there.”

Dawn, who was crying too at these words, mortified by what she was hearing, stood up, taking Tara and Buffy by the hands and making the decision for them, “Of course we’ll be there. We’re gonna have to pull ourselves together first,” she said gently and they all giggled tensely as they broke hands, wiping their faces and drawing all the courage they had in them to go next door.

“Buffy,” said Tara, “Whatever happens in there. It’s not your fault. I won’t hold it against you.”

“Hey, I thought we weren’t going to make each other cry again,” said Buffy as she drew Tara in to a long hug, tears streaming down both of their faces.

***

It took a few attempts for the girls to finally make their way through the door and back onto the shop floor. Buffy had decided this was no place for ceremony. She didn’t want to feel like an executioner, not that the sickle was helping much on that front. She wanted to get it over and done with. She took the sickle in her hand, releasing the bindings from Willow where she sat. Tara and Dawn had knelt either side of her and now held her hands. Willow had smiled bravely at the pair of them. There was so much all of them wanted to say but nothing would come.

“Ready?” said Buffy, trying to sound braver than she felt. Willow nodded.

“I love you, Will,” said Xander, managing by some miracle to stop his voice from cracking and instead saying it in such a serious tone that they all giggled.

“Can always count on you to break the tension, Xan,” said Buffy appreciatively, counting to three in her head before raising the sickle and pulling the magic from her friend. 

Immediately, she could tell she was dealing with a far greater level of magic than Rack had possessed. The sickle was doing the job but she could feel the effort it was taking her to direct its energies was way more intense.

Where Rack’s magic had been black vapour, Willow’s was more like a small tornado flying out of her and her body was slammed back against her chair, which blasted backwards forcing Dawn and Tara to leap out of the way. The seconds it took for the magic to disappear into the sickle were the longest of their lives, even for Buffy who had been living in elastic-time-world for so long.

As the torrent of magic stopped, Willow crumpled from her chair, which was now up against the back wall, and fell to the floor in a heap. She looked so small, like all the air had been sucked from her body. Tara ran towards her and Spike followed, thinking the good witch was not in any state to assess the situation. He put a hand in front of her mouth and delivered the news. “She’s still breathing.”

“Oh, thank God,” said Angel and Giles together as the others rushed towards her.

Willow’s eyes flickered open a fraction and a tiny little “ouch” escaped her lips before she fell unconscious.

***

Later that evening, at the house, Willow was asleep upstairs being watched by the hawk-like eyes of Tara, Willow and Anya. They hadn’t come down even when Xander showed up with the pizza, asking him to bring them up a box instead. When he had seen Anya propped up on pillows next to a sleeping Willow, with a slice of pizza in her hand and her gaze firmly on his best friend’s face, he felt a surge of love for her greater than any he had felt before.

Giles had gone back home to “Sleep for a few days,” and Angel had made his excuses to disappear as well, Buffy getting the impression he felt like he was cramping her and Spike’s style. It was true that they’d been trying to minimise their physical contact in front of Angel, whenever they remembered, which was possibly not as often as Angel would have liked. He’d hugged her on the doorstep before he left though, and he had shouted a “See you next time, Spike,” through to the living room, which had seemed friendly enough. 

“Angel,” Buffy had said as he turned to leave, “I couldn’t explain what happened these past weeks if I tried, but thanks for sticking around.”

He had nodded, “And I’m gonna rest a little easier knowing you’re impossible to kill.”

She’d not really considered the fact that Angel was immortal too. This was quite the little gang she was part of, “Don’t think you’re getting away that easy,” she’d grinned at him, “I’ll still be calling you when we get ourselves into a mess we don’t know how to fix.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

***


	24. Chapter 24 Unstoppable

At the Magic Box the next day, there had been some discussion on the fate of the sickle.

“Well obviously you have to keep it Buff, you’re a freakin’ superhero now. Well, I mean even more than you are already. You’re unstoppable.” Xander had said, as if Buffy was a fool for even considering there to be another approach.

“Pretty sure she was unstoppable before,” said Spike, “Keeping the sickle would just be unfair to all the baddies and beasties!” He raised his eyebrows at her from the chair next to hers, sticking his tongue out cheekily between his teeth.

“Yeah, and it’s also a giant target on my head,” said Buffy to Xander, “Hey demons of Sunnydale, guess what your friendly neighbourhood slayer got her hands on the other day, come and get it.”

“Eh, I see your point,” Xander replied.

“So,” she turned to Spike, Xander and Anya then. Giles was still at home recovering and the other girls were at Revello, tending to their patient. “I need you three to come with me tonight to Bishop’s Castle so I can put it back.”

“No can do,” said Anya, “I promised Will we’d watch Dirty Dancing. Girl’s night with Tara and Dawn.”

“Oh. Xan?”

“What do you need me for? Won’t I just cramp your style?”

“Well, we need to get that Rack magic out of you for one thing, and I have a little task for you first.” Xander had been spending the day sending small objects zooming around the room, much to Anya’s irritation and his own amusement. Buffy thought it might be nice to give him one last hurrah before he went back to his regular self.

“Well, colour me curious,” said Xander happily, and it was settled.

***

Pulling up to the farm in Spike’s DeSoto, Buffy realised how little of it she’d seen on her previous visit. Xander still had his powers for a little while longer and when they entered the barn, he sent a few massive streamers of white light cascading from his hand where they looped the room twice, bathing them in a nice, warm glow.

“Hey, you’ve got a little more flair than the Wicked Witch,” Spike said approvingly.

“Yeah,” said Buffy, “Better than those weird orb things.”

“What can I say,” said Xander, “I like to hone my craft, even if it is only temporary.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Buffy, “There is one other thing I was hoping you might help us with first.” Both Xander and Spike were none the wiser about Buffy’s little plan. “While you’ve still got Rack’s magic, I thought we could put it to use for good. How’d you feel about fixing Spike’s little brain problem?”

“Uh, Buff,” said Xander, “That’s not a brain problem, he’s just British.”

“Oh, very good,” said Spike, turning to Buffy then, “And what do you mean my brain problem?”

“The chip, dummies,” said Buffy, smiling at her use of her sister’s favourite word. She could see why Dawn was so fond of it.

“Oh, come off it,” said Spike, “You don’t really think this one wants to help me get the sodding chip out? He probably thinks I’ll eat you all.”

“Done,” said Xander, “Turn around.”

“Done!? What do you mean “done”? I’m evil.”

“Yeah, maybe a year ago you were evil but now you’re a pussycat. And besides, Buffy’s immortal now, you really think she’s gonna let you go around killing people? She’d stake you in a heartbeat.” Buffy thought how staking Spike was the last thing on earth she would be able to do, no matter how evil he became but she thought it might be best to leave that part out, instead saying, “Yeah!”

“I swear to God mate, if you ever call me a pussycat again, I’ll rip your bleedin’ eyeballs out, chip or no sodding chip. Understood?”

Xander resisted the strong urge to meow in response, instead indicating with a spinning finger that Spike should turn around. Spike obliged with a dramatic sigh. “I’m gonna be bloody in his debt if he pulls this off,” he grumbled.

“How about you promise not to do any super-evil deeds and we’ll call it even?” said Xander.

Spike turned around, shook his hand and said, “Deal,” returning to his position before turning round again to say, “And no backsies,” with a stern finger pointed at the temporary warlock’s face.

Buffy rolled her eyes as Xander pointed a finger in the general direction of Spike’s head, screwing his face up in concentration. There was a small fizzing noise from Xander’s finger followed by a pop which seemed to come from Spike’s head, the latter raising his hand to scratch it absent-mindedly as if a fly had landed on it.

“All done,” said Xander.

“What, that’s it?” said an incredulous Spike.

“Yup!”

“Where’d the chip go?”

“I vanished it,” said Xander. Buffy beamed at him.

“Hang on a minute,” said Spike, wheeling round to face Xander, “How do I know you’re not just takin’ the piss?”

“Be my guest,” Xander sighed, sticking out his shin in Spike’s direction and wincing in anticipation of the pain of an incoming boot. Instead, Spike’s blow came in the form of a fairly gentle slap to the back of the head, similar to the one he had delivered to Buffy when he was testing the slayer-is-a-demon hypothesis.

“Hey! You didn’t kick me!” said Xander, touched and surprised.

“Hey! It didn’t hurt!” said Spike.

“Yeah, well technically he’s got Rack’s magic in him so I’m not entirely sure that was a fair test,” said Buffy, who had enjoyed watching this strangely sweet scene take place between her boyfriend and her friend.

“Oh. Bugger.” Said Spike.

“Which reminds me. Xan, ‘fraid we’re gonna have to pack up this little light show, it’s time for the sickle to go bye-bye.”

Xander waved a hand, slightly sad as the banners of light shot back towards him, disappearing as they reached his hand. It had been nice taking a turn as the one with the useful power. Buffy, who had come prepared, turned on her battery-powered lantern, setting it on the floor where it cast a rather more meagre beam, but plenty for the task at hand. She raised the sickle, drawing black vapour from Xander’s nostrils, mouth and ears.

“Yugh, I am not gonna miss that feeling,” said Xander, shaking out his feet as though something were caught in his pant legs before eyeing the sickle pensively, “You sure you wanna put that thing back?”

“Positive,” she said, “I think being an immortal slayer is plenty to be getting on with for now. And besides,” she added, “We’re not even sure this is gonna work. I’ve got Giles looking up a plan B in case it doesn’t hide itself.” Buffy had a working hypothesis about how the sickle had presented itself to her but she needed to test it. “Gonna need you two to come and watch,” she said, handing the lantern to Spike who held it up obligingly.

They walked towards the single remaining stone on the hill from which the sickle had emerged. “This place gives me the creeps,” said Xander, nodding his head in the direction of the place where Rack had laid. Angel and Spike had dragged him into the paddock before they left the other night and there was a faintly visible trail in the mud from where his body had travelled. Buffy shuddered, “Agreed. Let’s get this over with.”

They gathered round the hollow stone and Buffy placed the sickle into it gently, nodding in satisfaction as Xander exclaimed, “Hey, where’d it go?”

“How about you Spike, can you see it?” she asked.

“Vanished,” he said in amazement, as the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. A distant sound began to ring as though through the ground, the chanting of the same disembodied voices they had heard when Buffy had walked through the arch. Their feet stuck to the floor as the hill shifted downwards, smoothing out to become part of the barn floor once again. They watched in amazement as ancient stones came sharply into focus, as though they had always been there, waiting to be called back into being. 

“I knew it!” said Buffy, “Let’s get out of here.” And she strode off towards the exit with the others hot on her heels.

“And how the bloody hell did you figure that was gonna happen?” said Spike who was starting to feel as though she’d never stop amazing him, however many lifetimes they spent together.

“Well, Giles started talking about me being out of time and it got me thinking, maybe those voices we heard were –”

“The monks!” said Xander.

“Oh God, don’t tell me the mortal caught on before I did,” said Spike mockingly, “Sure you didn’t get some brain cells when you took my chip out?”

“Hey!” said Xander, “Watch it. We can always get Buffy to give me back my powers so I can put it back you know.”

Buffy laughed. She was happy the two of them were getting along but she knew better than to point it out. Boys could be so weird about stuff like that.

“So, when you put the sickle back into the rock,” Spike began.

“I was hiding it in the monastery all those hundreds of years ago,” she concluded, “pretty crazy when you think about it.”

They went quiet then, all of them thinking that it was indeed, pretty crazy that they’d just hidden a legendary magical weapon hundreds of years in the past. It wasn’t something you could just get your head around.

***

As Spike drove them along the winding dust track back towards Sunnydale, Xander pulled his yoyo from his pocket, fumbling it as Spike hit a bump at speed. He wasn’t exactly the smoothest driver. Reaching for the yoyo to try and catch it before it was lost forever in the black hole beneath Buffy’s seat, Xander gasped with surprise as it leapt by itself back into his hand. He wasn’t sure if he was seeing things, so he dropped it a second time just to make sure and lo and behold, up it jumped, the moment he thought about catching it.

“Hey, uh, Buff? I hate to break it to you after the whole shebang with the chanting monks of the past and what-have-you but I uh – appear to still have a little magic in me.”

“Huh, how about that,” said Buffy, turning to Spike with a knowing wink, “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably only enough magic to give you a minor edge. Only fair when you’re fighting with an immortal vampire slayer, after all.” She turned around to Xander who beamed at her, already hovering his yoyo above one hand, “And we know where the sickle is if you ever decide to go over to the dark side.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> If you're reading and you have a moment, I would love to hear what you think! Plot predictions, favourite lines, things that confused you? I Wanna hear it all!


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